


guys like you

by elegantstupidity



Series: like a young saint [8]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Porn With A Half-Hearted Attempt at Plot, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, is probably more accurate, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Ginny knows that playing Never Have I Ever at a house party is just going to lead into TMI Territory.What she doesn't expect is for it to lead to some of the best sex of her life...





	1. once is an accident

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous prompt: Ginny lets it slip that once or twice she's faked it and Mike is determined to make sure it never happens again.
> 
> Also: Happy Sinning Sunday
> 
> title: Suzanne Wright quote, “I’ve met _guys like you_ before. They talk the talk but, well… talking doesn’t exactly get people to orgasm, does it?"

Whoever’s idea it was to break the moratorium on drinking games at team parties deserves a bat to the nuts. There was a reason they decided last semester not to play these games anymore. But reason stands no chance against the concentrated power of Evelyn's famous jello shots. The sheer amount of Everclear-190 that goes into every batch makes sure of hat.

And so, even though she has long since learned to avoid those little jiggly treats, everyone (but mainly Ginny) is now being subjected to Never Have I Ever.

(It’s cold comfort that her team captain had seemed as wary as she was at the beginning of the night. That’s because, judging by his ruddy cheeks and the way he’s grinning at a few of the girls in the circle of participants, Mike Lawson’s forgotten all about his reservations. And why worry about another brawl, like the one that’d begun the ban on alcohol-based competitions? Obviously eyeing up some of the ball bunnies in attendance is more pressing.)

In spite of her worry, her fellow San Diego Aztecs seem pretty content with drunkenly over-sharing rather than trying to beat each other's faces in. Which, on the one hand is good because baseball season is around the corner and the team really doesn't need another shake up; they'd really only just settled down from her transfer in last year. On the other hand...

Ginny’s learned far too much about her teammates tonight. And she’d already known too much in the first place. But tonight, even more dirty secrets have come to light. Like the fact that Salvi was put in the back of a police car buck naked because he’d streaked at his high school’s homecoming game and the cops wouldn’t let him go back for his clothes. Or there’s Tommy’s collection of vintage _Playboys,_ Dusty’s impeccable Steve Urkel impression, and Javanes’ admission that his eyebrows aren’t all he waxes. 

She’s just taking a sip (”Never have I ever sucked dick.” Which, real original, Hinkley.) when she feels everyone’s attention turn to the woman next to her.

Evelyn grins mischievously, but doesn’t bother to keep them in suspense. “Never have I ever faked it in bed,” she says confidently, as well she should. It’s her go-to. 

Stubbs is too busy high-fiving Blip to notice that his girlfriend is taking a sheepish sip from her mixed drink. In fact, most of the girls playing take a hit from Evelyn’s turn, though it doesn’t seem as if many of the guys notice. 

Except Mike. His grin fades to a frown, which deepens the longer he watches the women around him tacitly confess to less than stellar experiences in bed. Ginny imagines that his opinion of his teammates is plummeting dramatically even as he tries to calculate how many of these girls he can pick up by offering his services. 

She snorts to herself, looking down as she tries to clear the sudden bitterness in her mouth. When she looks up, though, Mike’s attention has drifted to her and he’s got one eyebrow raised, a silent question.

Ginny just rolls her eyes and takes a swig from her too-warm beer.

She’s careful not to check his reaction. 

In fact, she’s careful not to pay much attention to him at all for the rest of the night. Much as Ginny wants to know whether or not he drinks at “Never have I ever gotten off while thinking about someone here,” or, thanks again to Evelyn, “Never have I ever had a secret crush,” she manages to keep her gaze pointed elsewhere all night. 

Mike, however, is not content to be ignored. 

When the game finally devolves into drunken arguments about whether or not making out in one of the chem labs is equivalent to hooking up in the stacks, Ginny extracts herself from the tangle of her teammates and their various hangers on. If there were any heat to the argument, she'd stick around to run interference, but the guys have been pretty good tonight. They've given her some truly awful mental images that she's sure will come back to haunt her, but it could definitely be worse. She considers getting another drink before she goes, but a quick check of her phone informs her that if she stays out much longer, getting up for her 7:00 AM run will just make her want to cry.

Given the floaty feeling in her head and the way she sways a little on her way to the door (okay, she couldn't resist a couple jello shots), the early wake up call probably won’t be the only thing to make her cry come morning. 

Before she can wrap her hand around the front door’s handle, however, someone beats her to the punch.

Opening the door and waving her through like the gentleman he tries so hard not to be, Mike asks, “Heading home?”

He’s already got his beat up gray leather jacket on, so Ginny just nods and doesn’t object when he follows her out. It's par for the course with team parties now. Lawson leaves when Baker does. She tries to tamp down on the thrill that Mike isn't leaving with any of those girls he'd flirted with, not that it would be a problem if he did. She just wouldn't have anyone to walk with.

Shaking herself, Ginny asks his opinion on the chem lab vs. library stacks debate.

They chat easily, the cool air and brisk pace cracking through the haze of alcohol in Ginny’s brain. Maybe her morning run won’t be so bad. 

Ginny’s gearing up to tell her captain good night as they near Mike's cross street, but rather than taking the turn towards his apartment, though, he keeps walking with her. 

She eyes him sidelong, and he shrugs, like walking her home isn’t a big deal. 

Shaking her head at dumb boys and their dumb sense of chivalry, Ginny accepts that this is happening and doesn’t put up an argument. 

Although, when Mike starts talking again, she wishes that she had. 

“So, how’re things with you and the computer geek?”

“Noah?” she asks, unsure of how Mike even knows that she’s hooked up with the guy a few times. Nearly a year and a half they’ve known each other and their respective romantic entanglements haven’t once come up. They just don’t talk about that stuff. Nearly everything else, but not their love life. She shrugs. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t seen him in a while. Why?”

“Well, when you admitted to faking it a time or two, just made me wonder if the kid needs a few pointers.”

“Oh my god,” Ginny groans, wanting to bury her face in her hands. She settles for thumping Mike on the chest. “Don’t be gross.”

“Is making sure a guy knows how to keep his girl satisfied gross now?” he ponders, scratching his chin in thought. “Huh.”

“You know what I mean." As an afterthought, she adds, "And I'm not his girl."

Something in Mike's demeanor shifts, but he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he goes on as if he hadn't heard it.

“Nah, don’t think I do, Baker. See, I consider myself something of an expert on female pleasure,” he says without a hint of irony. In spite of Ginny’s wrinkled nose and silent gag, he continues, “Generally, if a girl isn’t getting off, her partner’s doing something wrong. You really want to tell me that he’s perfect in bed and you still have to fake it?”

Well, no. Still, she feels obligated to defend Noah. She can count on one hand the number of times a guy’s made her come. (To be fair, it only takes two hands and a handful of toes to count how many times a guy’s been in that position.) It’s not really a Noah problem. 

“It’s not like it’s all his fault,” she reasons. “It’s just hard for me to, y’know, _get there_.”

Which is true, though it’s just the last remnants of alcohol in her system that makes her think it’s a good argument. 

The fact that it makes Mike stop almost comically in his tracks is not what she intended, though. Shutting him up, yes. Making him stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a little too wide eyed for her tastes, no. 

Although she’d paused and turned back when she realized Mike wasn’t still at her side, seeing him stuck there makes Ginny roll her eyes and keep walking. Sure enough, in a matter of moments, the heavy tread of his boots on the sidewalk hits her ears and his warm bulk radiates warmth into her again. 

“Just how many times have you had to fake it with him?” he asks, peering at her intently and giving up any attempt at being casual.

“What?” Ginny sputters. “I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?” Mike whistles low. “I thought this was just a once or twice kind of thing, but clearly this is much worse. Does it even _feel_ good?”

“Of course it feels good. Why would I sleep with him if it didn’t feel good?” she snaps.

“Jesus, just checking.” He goes quiet and Ginny hopes that’s the end of it. Of course, it’s not. “You do know what the real thing feels like, right?”

“Oh my god.” Ginny’s face feels like it’s on fire. She picks up her pace even as she knows Mike won’t take the hint. Her dorm is only a few more minutes away. She can deal with him that long. If not, she’ll just threaten him with one of the seven blue light phones between here and the door of her building. That should keep him in line.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures her obnoxiously, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Maybe you just need someone to show you how it’s done.”

That stops Ginny in her tracks. 

Mike takes a few steps forward without her, but realizes much quicker than she did. He turns back to her, eyebrow raised in question as if she’s the one acting strange. 

“Are you,” and she can’t quite believe she’s saying this, “telling me I need a sex tutor?”

He rolls his eyes, hands shoved in the pocket of his jacket. “Yeah, Baker. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” 

“What am I supposed to think when you tell me I need someone to show me how it’s done?” Ginny hisses, thankful that the sidewalk is, for once, empty of drunk frat guys, giggling sorority girls, and the packs of freshmen that still haven't learned how to navigate campus when not in herd formation.

“Think whatever you want, rook,” he replies casually, but his eyes tell another story. Even in the dark, Ginny can read the intensity there, the curiosity and even the desire. She licks her lips and Mike doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he follows the movement. When he finally drags his gaze back to hers, her mouth goes dry and she wants to swallow, but there’s nothing to go down. 

Shaking herself, Ginny takes a few automatic steps forward. She falls back into step with Mike (rather than straight into his arms as she kind of wants to), but there’s an electric awareness of him and how far away he is at all times. They walk silently, but Ginny shivers every time the warm leather of his jacket brushes against her arm. 

Apparently, Mike notices because he pauses long enough to shrug it off and drape it over her shoulders. When she turns to thank him, a whiff of his cologne from the collar drifts right into her nose. At the wash of familiar musk, Ginny loses anything approaching coherency. Instead, she smiles up at him, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. 

In no time at all, they arrive back at her dorm. Ginny swipes in, and turns back to Mike. 

“You walking me up?”

Her voice is huskier than she means it to be, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He follows her silently through the mostly quiet dorm, only the faint pulsing of EDM from the suite at the end of the hall breaking the silence, until they’re standing outside her room. 

Ginny gets the key in the lock with minimal fuss, but rather than open the door and slip inside, she turns to lean against the cool solidity of the wood, looking up at Mike through her eyelashes. It’s strange to see him in the dorms, but part of her thinks he’ll stick out less in her room. Ginny tilts her head in thought, worrying her lip. 

Mike sways towards her, just an inch, but it’s enough to make up Ginny’s mind. 

“Do you really think I need someone to show me how it’s done?”

Mike smirks. “Unless you want to keep faking it, yeah. I do.”

Ginny tries to project the same smooth confidence. If the twinkle in Mike’s eye is any indication, she doesn’t quite manage it. But her hand doesn’t shake as she twists the handle behind her back and her voice is even when she says, “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, then?”

It’s a good thing that Ginny’s learned how to take a hit because Mike practically tackles her into the door. 

Ginny stumbles back as the door gives way behind her, but Mike’s hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders keep her steady. His mouth doesn’t quite find hers. Instead, his lips glide against her jaw and up towards her ear lobe. She pants when his teeth latch on to the bit of flesh, tongue flickering over it. It’s hard not to imagine his mouth doing exactly that, just much, much lower. 

When coherent thought manages to cut its way through the Mike-induced haze, Ginny tugs him fully into her room, the door swinging shut behind them. 

In the half light filtering in from the window, they both breathe raggedly. 

“Um,” she says, mouth dry. Her fingers curl around the hard jut of his shoulders. God, how hasn’t she noticed how fucking big he is? She feels tiny standing so close to him. She's been this close before, thrown herself into his arms to celebrate a win, but this is different. So very fucking different.

Mike’s looking at her so intently, like he's already mentally undressed her and loves what he sees, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

It's too much.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she instructs, before untangling herself from Mike and whirling away, her mind already off on its own tangent.

It’s not often that she has a boy in her dorm, and never for this. The few times she’s hooked up with Noah, it’s been at his apartment. This is kind of foreign territory.

She shrugs out of Mike's jacket and her thin sweater, leaving only a tank top behind, and hangs them on the hooks by the door. Her shoes get kicked into a corner. For lack of anything else to do, she goes to her desk and turns on the lamp there. Ginny's pretty sure she's going to want to see (and remember and probably relive) what's going to happen, but the overhead fluorescents are out of the question. Then, she opens her computer and queues up a playlist. Nothing loud or suggestive, just enough to fill in the silence that’s descended.

“Ginny,” Mike says over the music. She turns to find him seated on the pulled out futon, boots already off. He’s staring at her with amusement and affection and—god damn it— _desire_ in his eyes. “C’mere.”

She goes. It only takes a few steps to cross the distance, but it simultaneously lasts forever and not nearly long enough. When she stands in front of him, Mike puts his hands on her hips. It’s only after he’s nuzzled against her stomach, the wiry strands of his beard dragging against the material of her top, though, that he urges her down onto the mattress with him. Ginny would’ve gone with or without his encouragement since her knees turned to jelly at the sight of him looking up at her so worshipfully. 

Ginny lands in his lap, her arms twined around his neck. Like this, she’s taller than him, and she definitely wants to use the height to her advantage when she finally kisses him. It doesn’t seem likely that Mike's the kind of guy to give up control all that often, so she doubts he'll let her take the lead if this ever happens again. 

Not that she’s been thinking about this happening again. Or even once. 

Before she can tie herself up in knots with all the mental gymnastics, Ginny leans in and lays one on him. 

His mouth curls a little, like he’s amused, so she presses in closer, letting the soft swell of her breasts rub against his own, very firm, chest. Her fingers comb through his hair and Mike finally gasps, his mouth falling open beneath hers. When her tongue darts in, he groans, falling back onto the mattress and pulling Ginny down with him.

It’s her turn to groan, the feel of his broad, strong body stretched out beneath her turning her insides to a mess of shivers. 

But that's not even the best part. Oh, the way he kisses her. 

Mike kisses like it’s the main event. Like there's nothing he'd rather do than get lost in give and take of lips and teeth and tongues. His mouth against hers is unhurried as his hands run up and down her sides, exploring and cataloguing her reactions. He seems content to simply make out in the dim light of her dorm, eliciting soft gasps and thready moans when his rough fingers find all of Ginny's most sensitive places. Even though she can feel the evidence of his interest nudging against her hip. And that interest is… significant. 

Ginny whines against his lips, ready to see that interest for herself. She even gets her hands on his belt buckle and fly.

He pulls away. She’d be more put out about if he sounded less out of breath when he asks, “How drunk are you?”

“Not very,” she replies, trying to tug him back in. 

Mike doesn’t budge. Finally, Ginny looks up at him, brow quirked and question clear on her face.

“You’re my teammate, Baker.”

“Oh my god,” she grumbles, shaking her head. It’s a little late to be playing that card.

“Not to mention, you should really be stone cold sober if you’re gonna experience a few of my many talents.”

“Do any of those talents include shutting up?” she mutters, falling back against the futon in frustration. Mike had definitely had more to drink than her tonight, but she was too drunk for this? 

“Just for that, and because it would be inhumane to keep you from getting off when you've been so disappointed in the past,” he says, shifting on the thin mattress until he can breathe right up against her neck, “I’m gonna talk you through this.”

Ginny’s breath hitches in her throat and she turns her head a fraction of an inch. Just enough to meet Mike’s eye, which she can see twinkling even through the gloom of her dorm. 

“So, you’re just gonna make me do all the work, huh?” she manages, hoping her voice comes off more sultry purr than shocked croak. 

“Gotta see what I’m working with,” he reasons, smirking.

“Oh, you wanna _see_ , huh?” Ginny raises a challenging eyebrow as she pushes herself up onto her knees. Teasingly, she grabs the bottom of her shirt, raising it inch by inch to display her smooth, flat stomach for him. 

Mike’s eyes follow the movement before flashing up to hers. Solemnly, his lips parted, he nods. 

The grin fades from her face, but Ginny’s somehow even more excited. Silently, she pulls her tank top up over her head, not bothering to put on a show. She knows she has his attention. The elastic of the shelf bra drags against her skin. Almost as heavily as Mike’s gaze. She can practically feel it rake up her torso, climbing the ladder of her ribs, over her breasts, which peak under his attention. 

For once, Ginny doesn’t want to cover herself immediately upon undressing. She likes the weight of Mike’s attention on her. Likes the way his hands twitch towards her, but he checks himself, jaw clenching. She really likes the growing bulge in his jeans. 

Grinning, she plants her hands on the mattress and prowls back up to him. She really wants his hands on her, whether or not she’s still a little tipsy. And she doesn’t think that she actually is. 

“You sure you just wanna _talk_  me through this, Lawson?” she asks, laying back down beside him, pressing her curves against his bulk as tantalizingly as possible. Her eyes flutter shut on their own. Fuck, he’s warm. 

Mike props himself up on his side to look down at her. Ginny wriggles out of her leggings for good measure. Once she’s situated, she gives him an inviting look, but all Mike does is raise an eyebrow and smirk. 

Ginny sighs theatrically, her hands resting on her stomach. “Fine, then, captain. What should I do?” She bats her lashes for effect. She’ll get him in the end. 

Mike grins down at her, shaking his head a little. “How did I not figure you’d have a mouth on you?”

She shrugs and smiles impishly back at him.

“Let’s start slow,” he murmurs, leaning down just enough for his beard to brush against her bare shoulder. Ginny fights a shiver, but she’s pretty sure she’s not at all successful. Not if the smile in Mike’s voice is any indicator. “Start with your tits for me.”

“Is that what you’d do?”

He hums and her fingers drift up lazily, drawing wide circles across her stomach before finally settling on her nipples. She tugs, back arching off the mattress. Mike swears at the breathy pant that falls off her lips. 

“Fuck. You’re sensitive, aren’t you?” 

“You could find out for yourself.” She tilts her face towards him, lips tantalizingly close. Close enough that she can practically feel the vibration of his groan. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, Ginny.”

“But what a way to go, right?”

Mike pulls away. Just far enough that he can stare her down in the dim wash of light. Ginny stares back, tempering her teasing grin. She holds her breath as one of his hands comes up to brush a stray curl out of her face, but can’t quite keep herself from leaning into his palm. 

“You really wanna do this?”

Silently, she nods. 

“And you’re not drunk?”

“I’m not drunk,” Ginny promises feeling a surge of affection for her usually gruff captain well up. Well, she can’t have that, can she? “You’re running out of reasons not to fuck me, Mike. Unless you don’t think you’re up for the challenge…”

His eyes narrow and his chin tilts down. He totally knows what she’s doing, but Ginny knows Mike’s about to fall for it hook, line, and sinker anyway. 

Fuck is she glad she’s learned to read him so well. It’s not just an asset on the field, apparently. Not with Mike settling his bulk over her, mouth crushed against hers. 

“I’m always up for a challenge, Gin,” he murmurs, just enough of an edge in his tone to make her shiver. Even with his nearly oppressive heat hovering over her. 

“Prove it.”

Mike rears back, kneeling between her spread thighs. One of his big hands splays between her breasts, keeping her from following him up. The other edges into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her long legs. 

She wants to say something about imbalance, what with Mike still fully clothed, but then his mouth is on her neck and his fingers are trailing up from her knee and anything even approaching coherency flies out the window. Mike must know it, too, because she can feel his cocky grin split against her skin. Not that Ginny can blame him. As much as she’d talked about finding it hard to get off, she’s practically putty in his hands. 

Maybe Mike’s right. Maybe the guys she’d been sleeping with had been bad in bed.

Or, just maybe, she has a massive thing for her captain. 

It’s not a thought that she really wants to dwell on, so it’s excellent timing that Mike chooses that moment to finally put his hands where she's been practically aching for him. 

The little sound of surprise and pleasure he makes when the pad of his fingers connect with the well of her arousal is nearly as good as the touch itself. Ginny thrusts her hips against his hand, seeking more. As if that's not enough, his mouth latches around a tight nipple, tongue curling over it.

It’s almost too much. 

And not nearly enough. His fingers continue their slick slide through her folds, never quite making it to her clit or dipping all the way inside her. He’s being a fucking tease. 

“More, Mike,” she pants, nearly whining.

He pulls off her nipple with a wet pop. “What’s that, Baker?”

“I want more,” she grits out, shifting her hips insistently. 

“More?” An eyebrow quirks. “Like this?” Almost painfully slow, he sinks a finger inside her. 

Ginny’s breath escapes her on a hiss. She nods frantically, already too far gone to feel embarrassed. Before she can ask, he adds another thick finger. The stretch of him, his eyes on her flushed face, even the rasp of his jeans against her bare legs, it all makes her gasp and pant as her cunt begins to flutter in anticipation.

“Are you gonna come for me, Ginny?” he asks, the delight in his voice making Ginny wish she were in a position to knock him down a few pegs. She really, really isn’t, though. Not with the way she’s writhing around his fingers, the heel of his palm finally grinding sweetly against her clit. Instead, she gasps and nods. He chuckles darkly. 

“You really had to fake it with the computer geek? How fucking selfish was he being? Because you,” he says, fingers crooking inside her, hitting a spot that makes her see stars and quake, “are so fucking responsive.”

If she were more in her head, Ginny’d reply that she’s never been as turned on as she is right now. Actually, that sounds like a terrible idea. It would go straight to Mike’s already over-inflated ego.

As it is, Ginny’s too busy falling apart to make that kind of decision. 

She’s sure that there’s an array of embarrassing sounds coming out of her mouth, but Ginny can’t really hear them. It’s like the rush of pleasure has blotted out every other sense. All she knows is what Mike’s making her feel, how her toes curl and her stomach tightens, chest heaving as she tries to suck in enough air to ride out this wave.

And the next.

And the next.

Strangely enough, her sense of smell returns first, Mike’s cologne and the tang of sweat riding into her nose on a deep breath. Then, it’s taste as Mike leans down and kisses her, beer and the piece of gum he'd chewed on the way over. After that, Ginny’s not too concerned, far more interested in the push and pull of his tongue against hers.

That stops, though, when Mike snickers into her mouth. 

Ginny pulls away, demanding, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah right, Lawson. What is it?” 

He looks down at her, unmistakably fond, and apparently decides she deserves and answer. The cheeky grin that grows under his beard should’ve tipped her off, but Ginny _did_ ask. 

“I just can’t believe anyone missed out on the opportunity to make _that_ happen,” he laughs.

Ginny shoves at his shoulder, rolling her eyes, when he falls dramatically onto his back. Still, that doesn’t keep her from straddling his waist, raising an eyebrow, and asking, “That mean you wanna make it happen again?” 

Mike’s (downright filthy) grin is answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I can't believe that I'm starting _another_ smutty wip when I still haven't finished why do the yankees always win? except, oh wait, I can. This would've been way too long if I wrote to it's inevitable conclusion, so have installment 1, i guess? It might be a bit before I can get the rest of this out...
> 
> Thoughts? Concerns for the status of my neglected prompt list? Frustrations that Fox still hasn't renewed this show? Let me hear 'em! Here or over on tumblr where I'm megaphonemonday.


	2. twice is a coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike checks in on Ginny's continued sexual satisfaction.

“He still making you fake it?”

If Ginny had devoted any time—between class and workouts and making sure to regularly eat, sleep, and shower, it wasn't like she had much—to stop and wonder how Mike might break the silence surrounding their night together, she doesn’t think this question would’ve made it into the top ten possibilities. 

Not that she hadn’t thought about that night at all, she just figured they weren’t going to talk about it. Ever. 

Which is only right as long as he’s her captain. After all, she doesn’t need some fling with her college captain haunting her when ( _If_ , her traitorous brain prods.) she gets drafted. 

But at the same time...

A whole week later, Ginny still hasn’t stopped thinking about it. Which is a problem since midterms are coming up and she really needs to be dedicating her brain power to those. Rather than trying to remember the exact shade of pink her captain turned when he finally blew his load. Because it hadn’t been enough to get her off with his mouth and then his fingers again. No, he’d laid her out across her bed and fucked her through one last orgasm before finally getting to enjoy his own.

“Oh my God!” she whirls on her smirking captain, keeping her other thoughts to herself and just barely restraining the urge to slug him. “Where were you even hiding?”

He shrugs, sliding into the seat Noah just vacated. A seat that’s all too close to hers. With Noah, it had been cute. A little annoying, but mostly cute. With Mike, it’s nearly overwhelming. Ginny can smell the fresh mint of his gum and the musk of his cologne, the same smell she hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to wash out of her sheets. Combined with this radiating body heat, so similar to that night, Ginny’s ready to crawl out of her skin.

Or maybe into his lap.

Has she mentioned how much she’s been thinking about—and maybe even reliving—that night? And how stressed she’s been? Combined with Mike’s practically magnetic proximity, it’s a dangerous combination.

“You’re not the only one who comes up here, you know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you studying up here, Lawson,” she returns suspiciously.

He just shrugs again, but there’s a telltale smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. All he says, though, is, “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

The thought of any part of Ginny rubbing on or off Mike is enough to make her forget any and all suspicion and her thighs want to both clench and part in memory. They start to tremble when he decides to lean in even closer, one hand landing on her bare knee, practically breathing in her ear.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t answer the question, Ginny.”

She refuses to back away when she turns her head to face him. If that means that their noses nearly bump, so be it. This close, she can see how blown out his pupils are, nearly obliterating the dark hazel. Involuntarily, her thighs, and other parts of her, clench.

“Noah and I have decided we’re better off as friends.”

“You axed his benefits?” he smirks. His god damn thumb starts tracing lazy circles to the inside of her knee and Ginny doesn't think she's imagining that each pass rises a bit higher.

She elects to ignore it, rolling her eyes. Rather than disagree or reply at all, she forces herself to turn back to her homework spread on the table. She’s supposed to be prepping a history essay that’s due next week and Noah had already distracted her.

Not as much as Mike's thumb creeping up her thigh, but that's not the point, now is it? 

“You saw the light, didn’t you?” he says, sounding far too smug for his own good. “I made you come to your senses—literally—and accept that sub-par sexual experiences are beneath you, didn't I? Well, what can I say? I’m basically God’s gift to women. Or at least their sex lives.”

It’s a testament to how charming Mike can be that he can say this kind of shit and Ginny still finds that she likes him. 

Still, she snorts—and not in amusement—staring down at her notes and willing herself to focus on them and not the idiot sitting next to her. 

The big, sexy idiot. The big, sexy idiot who's suddenly frowning at her forbiddingly. His hand finally leaves her knee as he rocks back to cross his arms over his chest. Ginny wishes she didn't want it back on her.

“Something funny, Baker?”

“Nope,” she replies steadily in spite of the havoc Mike's wreaking on her. Staring down at what she knows is a set of immaculate notes on the Gilded Age, she can't make out a single word. Not with Mike's warmth and Mike's smell and Mike's voice  _right fucking there._

“C’mon” he wheedles, close enough to stir her hair with his breath. “Tell your captain what’s on your mind.”

There are a lot of things on Ginny’s mind and very few of them would she ever say out loud in public, much less to a man that she definitely shouldn’t have slept with and has an ego the size of the Pacific.

It’s that ego, though, that makes her think this next play is a good idea.

Ginny sighs, trying to rein in the smile that wants to break over her face. When she chances a look at Mike, his expression is cocky, confident, but there’s a hint of wariness, too.

He could really do with a bit more wariness. 

“I just think that you might be getting a little ahead of yourself with this ‘God’s gift to women’ thing.” 

“Really.” It’s not at all a question, more a reminder of just how many times he made her fall apart. 

(Four. It was four times, all right?)

“I mean, you caught me when I was pretty hard up. It’d been a while and I was a ticking time bomb.” Which is all true enough until Ginny flat out lies, “I bet just about anyone could’ve gotten me to—what did you say? ‘See the light?’ Or maybe...”

Mike’s eyes narrow as she trails off and Ginny wants to cheer. It’s not often she gets to pull the rug out from under him, and it feels good. “What,” he says, gruff and a little indignant.

“Maybe it was a fluke,” she taunts casually, turning back to her history reading for what felt like the millionth time since Mike sat down. This time, though, she’s accepted that she won’t process a single word, too wrapped up in Mike’s reaction.

“A fluke?”

Ginny’s positive she’s not imagining the tightness in Mike’s voice, but doesn’t let herself check. Still, it’s too hard to keep her tone properly flippant, so she just hums her agreement, underlining a sentence even though she’s sure she hasn’t processed it completely.

Mike shoves to his feet, chair skidding on the bland library carpet, and she wants to giggle at how easy he is to wind up. That urge dies as he hauls her to her feet, too, and proceeds to drag her through the mostly empty third floor. It’s almost entirely outdated encyclopedias and what Ginny’s pretty sure are the remnants of the card catalogues up here, meaning no one is ever up here looking for anything. Which is why it's her number one study spot.

Judging by Mike’s pace as he tugs her through the tangle of shelves, though, studying is the last thing on his mind. And judging by the way he seems to know exactly where he’s going, Ginny has a hunch that studying wasn’t really on his mind when he said he comes up here a lot, either. 

Expertly, he leads her to an aisle deep in the stacks. Ginny doesn’t have time to ask what the hell he’s doing—not that she thinks he’ll give a satisfactory answer—before he’s pressing her front into one of the few empty shelves, immediately crowding up behind her. 

“I’ll show you a fluke, Baker,” he promises darkly, his breath hot and heady against her neck. 

His hands, though, they’re what set Ginny to burning.

It’s so easy for him to slide a thick thigh between her legs and for those hands to wander under the fluttery skirt she’d pulled on this morning. (She'd thought it would be nice to enjoy one of the last warm days of fall, not that she'd be enjoying Mike's hands between her legs again. This is better.) They trace up the outsides of her thighs, over her hips, and leave goosebumps in their wake. That’s not enough for Mike though, who must feel the way she shivers all pressed against her back the way he is. No, his clever fingers have to also find their way under the lace bands of her underwear, too.

“Shit,” he breathes when he feels how fucking wet she already is. Ginny would blush, but she’s a little distracted by his wide fingers spreading her open. “This is all for me, isn’t it? I don’t see you getting worked up like this for the computer geek.” 

Ginny shrugs, trying to crane around to get a better look at him, but he’s so close and all she can catch a glimpse of is clenched, bearded jaw as Mike looms against her. “I _was_ talking to Noah for a long time before you showed up,” she ends up teasing, even as her knees buckle, just a little bit, from two of Mike’s thick fingers nudging their way inside her. Her own curl around the edge of a shelf to keep herself upright. 

If she thought he was close before, the looming weight of her captain on her back at her words is another beast entirely. He presses her into the shelves, one digging into her diaphragm and making it hard to breathe in deep. 

Or maybe that’s just the way Mike growls—fucking growls!—in her ear, “Don’t lie to me, Ginny.”

Fuck. This shouldn’t be so hot. The commanding tone that has made her roll her eyes so often on the field is definitely getting a different reaction now. A reaction she never would have dreamed of, having never considered herself much of an exhibitionist. But now, wedged between the dark wood of the library shelves and the solid bulk of Mike’s body where anyone could find them, she is undeniably turned on. 

Still, she’s got enough her wits to challenge, “Or what, Lawson?” 

He chuckles and his fingers inside her curl and Ginny has no clue if he timed it that way on purpose, but she shudders at the combination. Her head tips back, landing against Mike’s firm shoulder and she shamelessly grinds against his palm. Just as she can feel the start of something delicious build in her belly, though, those fingers disappear from inside her. They skate down her thigh, leaving a trail of her juices behind. She moans in protest, not even bothering to smother the sound in her arm.

Mike’s weight doesn’t let up from behind her. If anything, he presses closer. 

His breath ghosts, warm and wet, across Ginny’s ear as he he murmurs in reply, “Or I can leave you hanging. Just like the computer geek.”

He wouldn't fucking dare.

Ginny fights to keep her jaw from dropping in indignation. Instead, she scoffs, putting all the derision she can muster into it, “I knew it. A fluke.”

Because she’s learned just how to play Mike Lawson to get what she wants. Usually that amounts to the window seat on a bus ride or the last of his fries, but now, Ginny has very different ideas. 

So, she jabs her elbow back, clipping him just hard enough in the ribs to make him consider letting her go. If he does, no harm, no foul. This won't have gone anywhere too dangerous and they can walk back to being teammates and friends. Probably.

If not...

His arms shoot out and turn into a cage around her. A buff, sexy, indignant cage. 

"You really wanna call four times a fluke, Gin?" he rumbles. And God is that sound dangerous. Ginny's eyes flutter shut, but she holds her ground. 

"Like I said, I was pretty worked up."

Apparently satisfied that she's not really going anywhere, Mike's right hand leaves the shelf he'd grabbed to block her in. He turns it so his knuckles can drag down her front, between her breasts, which ache for his touch even through her bra and shirt, down her stomach and the slight jut of her hip bone. It's not until he's toying with the hem of her skirt and her hips shift unconsciously, aware of how  _close_ his clever fingers are to her aching center that he breathes, "As worked up as you are now?"

Shakily, Ginny answers, "More."

His fingers brush against the soaked gusset of her underwear and Ginny squirms against even that scant friction. Her stance widens, offering him more room. 

"I don't know," he teases, echoing the teasing his fingertips against her soaked labia. "You feel pretty fucking worked up to me. You've soaked through these." He pushes the underwear aside and Ginny has to swallow hard to keep from crying out at the feel of his skin back against hers. As soon as it's there, though, it's gone, his hand cupping around the inside of her thigh.

Ginny whines and rubs her thighs together, trying to shimmy his hand back up where she wants it. It remains stubbornly in place, fingers digging into the muscle there warningly.

Mike’s exhale gushes shakily against her neck, making her shiver. 

“You want me to touch you again?" he asks, like it's a question that really needs an answer. "You really wanna come right now, don’t you?”

“No,” she snarks back in spite of the insistent need between her legs and the way she can only bring her thoughts into half focus, “I want you to get me all worked up and leave me hanging.”

“I figured you’d be used to it.”

Helplessly, Ginny starts to giggle. It’s either that or start begging him to touch her again, and she has some pride. 

“What’s so funny, rookie?” he asks. And Ginny hasn’t heard _that_  nickname in a while. It sounds far more dangerous than it ever has, though maybe that has something to do with the fact that Mike’s feeling her up in the library in the middle of the day. 

Strangely, the thought is enough to clear some of the sex-induced haze from her mind and she comes up with another play.

Ginny shoves her shoulders back into his chest, just enough to get a little room between her and the shelf. Room that she uses to wriggle an arm down her front, her hand shoving up the front of her skirt to settle between her legs. 

She turns her head to the side and Mike is already looking down at her, expression a little unfocused. She grins, tongue poking out between her teeth only for her jaw to drop open a hair when her fingers find their target. 

“Just think it’s funny," she practically gasps, though her own touch isn't doing nearly as much as Mike's had, "you haven't considered that I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

A long unsteady breath looses right against Ginny’s neck. “Are you getting yourself off?”

Bold as anything, she replies, “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Immediately, Mike’s fingers trail up and encounter Ginny’s rubbing at her clit. With a soft curse, his forehead drops to her shoulder and the muscles in his arm must clench because his hold on her tightens. She's unsteady enough that her hips rock back.

Right into the hard bulge in Mike's jeans. 

Her fingers stutter a halt before she presses back into him more firmly, hips rolling. She remembers all too well what Mike had felt like fucking her and god damn it, now fingers aren't enough. 

His hips shoot forward, knocking an approving sound from Ginny's lips. 

Which is, finally and inexplicably, enough to make him lose his cool.

“You want me to fuck you right here, don’t you?” he rumbles, his fingers sliding between her folds. The evidence of what she wants is right there, but he keeps talking. She'll never admit it, not to him, but Ginny loves the mouth on him. “Flip up this little skirt of yours and fill you up. Make you come all over my cock."

Ginny fucking pants at his words, mind blanking when his other hand comes down to curl around her hip. His fingers dig in, sure to leave marks when all's said and done. 

That thought, and the insistent hardness digging into her ass, is enough to make her gasp, "Yeah, yeah. Fuck me please."

Mike's hands disappear from under her skirt and Ginny wants to whine or run if he's decided this isn't happening. Instead, she straightens, begins to turn around, but stops cold when Mike says, "Hold your horses. Just let me get a condom out."

Relief floods her, but she just looks back over her shoulder at him with an arched brow. "You know you're not supposed to keep those in your wallet, right?"

It earns an eye roll. She assumes. His head is down, no doubt dealing with his fly and boxers before rolling on the rubber, so she can't say for sure. But since approximately 70% of Mike's reactions to her are eye rolls of some sort, it seems like a safe bet. Though if they're going to keep ending up in situations like this, that number will probably skew lower. 

"Maybe they don't stay in there long enough for the wear to be a problem," he drawls, the crinkling of the package only serving to amp Ginny up, in spite of Mike's cockiness. "You ever think of that?"

"Lawson," Ginny sings, low and falsely sweet, "you can either brag about how many girls you get or you can get  _this_ girl." She wiggles her hips for emphasis, even reaching back to flip up her skirt herself. 

Immediately, one of his hands come up to palm her exposed ass. He squeezes and Ginny has to hide her triumphant grin or who knows what he'll do. In no time, though, that grin drops, along with her underwear, which Mike pushes down her legs, hands lingering all the way down. Eagerly, she lifts her feet out of them, not caring where they fall. She's got a few other things on her mind at the moment. 

Things like the blunt head of Mike's dick nudging against her slick, swollen lips. 

Ginny focuses on breathing and remaining upright, though she does grab onto the shelf before her with both hands to help with that. Her head dips forward, back arching as Mike continues his slow thrust inside her. Each of his big palms span a hip to keep her steady. Not that Ginny would dream of going anywhere before she gets that orgasm he's all but promised her. She can feel it waiting, like a word on the tip of her tongue or a sneeze stubbornly stuck in her sinuses.

Only so much fucking better. 

Finally, he bottoms out inside her, the open fly of his jeans digging into the backs of her thighs and ass. Before Ginny can squirm against the sensation, Mike's pulling out and starting up an easy rhythm. 

He's quiet for a minute as he gets in the zone, but the grunts and groans of satisfaction are almost as good as him running his mouth. Ginny concentrates on rolling her hips in time, tilting and arching until the head of Mike's dick runs against her G-spot on every thrust. In no time, bright sparks begin to cloud her vision, the sensation he's creating inside her flooding her senses. He groans his appreciation as her cunt tightens even more around him. His grip on her hips loosen, one hand sliding around to splay against her stomach as an anchor and the other palming the round globe of her butt again. 

“Your ass is un-fucking-believable, Gin,” he pants in her ear, punctuating his point with a smack.

She bites back a squeal, entirely too conscious of where they are, but can’t help the way she tilts her hips into his hand as he rubs the abused flesh. He proves to be an excellent multi-tasker, not missing a beat as he continues to fuck her long and steady.

Ginny can imagine his head tipped to the side, watching his dick disappear into her pussy. He'd liked that. Before. The other night. After spending some time driving her into the mattress, he'd flopped onto his back and pulled her on top of him. The things he'd said still made her blush whenever she's thought of them in the past week. And she's thought of them a lot. A lot. And often alone in the comfort of her room.

Almost automatically at this point, one hand slips down between her legs.

Hey, is it her fault that those memories are as good for reliving as they were at the time?

Her fingers slide against her clit, an obscene wetness flowing out of her pussy to coat her thighs. In the slick, they drop too far, brushing up against Mike's hard shaft pumping in and out of her. For a moment, she lets herself be distracted by the warm, velvety hardness of him. That dick is a study in contrasts. For its size, it should be unwieldy, awkward even, but Ginny should've known better than to expect awkwardness from Mike in bed. Or in the stacks.

With one last caress, she goes back to stroking herself.

He groans at the intrusion. "Are you touching yourself again?"

Ginny hums in response, working her clit in tandem with Mike's thrusts. She can feel her climax creeping in from her fingers and toes, beginning to coil low in her belly.

How does he make her feel like this so quickly? Usually, it felt like such a fight to coax even the quietest orgasm out of her body.

Honestly, she's not sure what it was about Noah or Trevor before him that had made it so difficult to come. Although, maybe it's less how hard it was to respond to them than how easy it is to respond to Mike.

A theory that gains credence when the rough pads of his fingers land over hers on her clit. He practically bats her hand away, taking up a funny little drumming rhythm over the taut, eager nerves. 

"I told you that  _I_ was gonna make you come, Ginny. You gonna make me a liar?"

Her mouth's gone dry, though she's not sure she has the faculties to come up with an appropriate response. Not when she's wedged between a library shelf and her team captain's sculpted body, riding his hand and his dick at the same time. He nips at the back of her neck, tongue soothing the bitten flesh.

She shakes her head in answer. 

"Good girl," he replies and shivers skate down Ginny's spine.

Huh. She definitely hadn't known _that_ about herself. 

She doesn't get much time to consider it as Mike doubles down on lavishing attention on her clit. He rolls, strums, and otherwise manipulates the sensitive bit of flesh, winding Ginny tighter and tighter, her thighs beginning to quake and breath coming in short, shallow pants. All the while, his magic fucking dick continues to stretch her cunt wide open, the perfect counterpoint to his talented fingers. 

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs. "Come for me."

It's that near echo of what he'd said a week ago that sets her off. 

( _“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” It’s all she can say, an endless litany dripping off her tongue as she rises and falls, heat climbing from the fire Mike’s stoking in her belly._

_ “Yeah, Gin. Fuck. Get it,” he pants in between messy licks up her chest, tongue catching on an aching nipple. Ginny’s 99% sure it’s not _ what _he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. A rough rumble that she can practically feel in her cunt. Which is wrapped tightly, greedily around his cock. Either way, it makes her tremble, neck and back arching from the sensation of it all. _

_ “Come for me, baby,” he orders. Or maybe begs. Pleads, demands. What difference does it make when Ginny’s not sure that she _ can? _He’s already wrung so much pleasure out of her. Is there anything left? _

_Sure enough, though, heat starts to build low in her belly, making Ginny gasp and writhe and finally fall apart one more time_.)

She lets out a strangled little moan as the tension coiling in her stomach erupts, sending sparks flying up her spine and out into her limbs. Her pussy explodes into wave upon wave of fluttering shudders, coaxing Mike into his own climax. 

Ginny's ears ring. She has to blink away stars and force her fingers to relax from where they'd cramped around the edge of the shelf. Inside her shoes, her toes slowly uncurl.

Behind her, Mike pulls out and Ginny tries not to frown at how empty and aching her pussy feels. Instead, she turns to face him for the first time in—

God, how long have they been back here? 

She slumps against the shelving unit and tries to catch her breath. Her nose wrinkles when she closes her legs and her thighs slide slickly against one another, they're so coated in her arousal.

"Gross."

Mike looks up from dealing with the condom, already wrapped in a bit of tissue. "No Kleenex, Baker? I'd offer you some, but this is all I had."

She rolls her eyes, flapping the material of her skirt at him. Cute as it is, the designer had definitely prioritized drape over practicality. "Yeah, I've got a whole box in these nonexistent pockets of mine."

Mike just shakes his head ruefully, jamming the tissue wrapped condom in his pocket. Her nose wrinkles again as he zips up his jeans. She's about to tell him to just go find a garbage can when he drops to his knees. Before she can ask what the hell he's doing, he's got one of her calves hooked over his shoulder and his head up her skirt. His tongue, slightly rough, but better than almost everything else she's ever felt, swirls across one inner thigh and then the other. It's strangely intimate, sweet even, and Ginny sighs happily at the sensation. When she's clean, except for the slight sheen of spit he's left behind, Mike emerges from under her skirt, but doesn't move to stand up.

His voice, when he speaks, is rough. With what, Ginny's not sure, but the sound of it makes her shudder in all the best ways.

"Fuck, you taste good. I almost thought I imagined that."

Ginny doesn't know what to do with that, so she stares down at him wide-eyed. The confirmation that he's thought about that first night, too, is almost to much. What if he's thought about it as much as she has? As _alone_ as she has? And that brings up some images that make her sure she'd clench her thighs together for some relief, if Mike weren't still in the way.

The other problem with having him still between her thighs, looking up at her so intently, licking his god damn lips like she's some kind of fine wine he's savoring, is that she can't just turn her arousal off or hope that he won't notice. More drips down her thighs and the process of cleaning her up starts all over again. 

Eventually, he follows the problem (Ha! Ginny's never encountered such a pleasant problem in her life!) to the source, his tongue driving between her swollen lips. 

"Mike," she gasps.

He hums but doesn't bother to pull away. 

She uses one hand to gather her skirt. Just so she can try and nudge him away. Not to give herself a better view of Mike pressing open mouthed kisses to her pussy and clit. 

Which is exactly what she gets. 

Ginny can't help but grind against his face a little at the sight. It feels as good as it looks, so what else should she do? And Mike just encourages her, his hands coming up to grab at her ass and seat her more firmly against his mouth. Her thighs begin to tremble, and not just with the effort of holding herself upright. Her lungs constrict, pulse hammering away in her ears. She's aware of all of this, but none of it at the same time, too focused on Mike and his mouth between her legs. 

When she comes, she can see it coming from a mile away, but it still hits her like a ton of bricks. She nearly collapses under the onslaught, her weight almost entirely draped over Mike and the bookshelf at her back, the leg that's supposed to be holding her up having turned to jelly. 

The man between her legs continues to lap softly at her as the aftershocks fade away and Ginny regains control of her body.

"Mike," she murmurs, threading her fingers into his hair. "I'm good. You're good."

Finally, he pulls his mouth off her with a wet smack. "You sure?" He doesn't bother to wipe off his face, though Ginny is sure she can see a sheen of wetness coating his lips and beard. 

"Yeah, I'm sure," she replies, searching for the underwear she'd abandoned. Her nose wrinkles when she doesn't see them on the ground. There's no way in hell she's walking around commando in a skirt. Her minor disgust turns to delighted bemusement when she catches sight of a very familiar scrap of lace sticking out of Mike's front pocket.

"Perv!" she accuses, more affectionately than he probably deserves as she snatches her underwear back. 

"A perv who just got you off twice," he volleys back, completely unrepentant and watching her step into her panties. 

"Yeah, yeah."

"You did, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"Get off twice. No faking it?"

“Don’t fish for compliments, Lawson,” she says primly, still leaning against the bookshelf and smoothing her skirt down her thighs again, panties in place.

“’M not fishing for anything," he replies, crowding back into her space. His hands settle on her waist, less possessive than when he'd been inside her, but enough to make her breath catch all the same. His face dips down to nuzzle against her neck and he breathes, "Already caught what I wanted."

“You caught me, huh?” she snipes, annoyed at the assumption and the fact that, technically, he’s right. He got her hook, line, and sinker. But fuck his lips feel good, and she doesn't even feel that embarrassed as her head tips to the side to offer him better access. She shivers when the beard drags against skin his mouth has just left.

“Had to. Couldn’t let you go around thinking last time was just luck. Or some fluke."

He pulls away and for all he's got a solid six inches on her, he manages to look at her through his eyelashes, head cocked to the side a little shyly. 

Her heart begins to pound. And not in the same way as when he'd growled in her ear as he finally came. She gazes up at him, unconsciously licking her lips. They're so dry. Same with her mouth and throat. 

Mike leans in and how does this feel more intimate than when he'd been eating her out not even five minutes ago? He swallows, looking uncertain and nothing like the guy who'd just hauled her into the stacks for two of the best orgasms of her life. But they're both him. They're both him and she wouldn't have him any other way.

"Ginny, I—"

A loud burst of laughter erupts, sounding far too close, though there's no one to be seen through the sparsely loaded shelves. They both freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

Even though they're fully clothed, Ginny's sure her hair is a mess and Mike's still flushed. There's really no mistaking what they were just doing. 

They wait until the conversation dies away, thankfully coming no closer, before letting loose the breaths they'd been holding. 

Ginny sags in relief. The last thing she needs is gossip getting around campus that she was fucking her captain in the stacks. She already gets enough snide comments about playing with the boys, she doesn't need the truth being hurled at her too. 

She jerks her head back to where she thinks her table is. She'd been a little preoccupied when Mike led them to this spot, so it's entirely possible she's turned around. "I should get back to studying."

Mike nods, a little wooden, but an agreement nonetheless. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'll let you get back to it." 

"Okay."

"Okay." 

When Ginny is safely back at her table, surrounded by the ordinariness of her homework, it's hard to settle in. She doesn't think it's just because she's had her mind blown, twice, either. 

No, she's pretty sure it has everything to do with the fact that she hadn't wanted to leave Mike behind at all. She'd wanted to let him drag her back to his apartment and forget all about midterms and the team and the fact that they shouldn't have done this once, let alone twice. She'd wanted to kiss him, not because he was about to fuck her or on a dare the way she'd had to kiss Livan last year, but just because she _wanted_ to. God, did she want to.

And that is a pretty huge fucking problem. One she has approximately zero time or energy to deal with.

At least until midterms are over.

With a sigh, she reluctantly turns back to her history paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest, I have no idea how this one's gonna end. Definitely some more smut. Probably happily because it's me, but. That said, It might be a bit before I get a chance to update this one. Thanks for your patience!


	3. three times is a pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny takes a few matters into her own hands.

Interestingly—Ginny’s unwilling to qualify it as anything else—Mike doesn’t bring up their library interlude. In the intervening weeks, not a single suggestive, risky, or otherwise inappropriate remark has passed his lips.

And not for lack of opportunity.

He's had _plenty_ of chances, and hasn't used a single one of them. Everything's been business as usual since the team started its fall training regimen in earnest. Ginny's no longer the rookie, fighting tooth and nail to establish herself, but it's still a lot of time spent in her teammates' company.

Specifically, her captain's company.

In spite of seeing each other more than ever, Mike remains silent on the topic. The lingering glances he sends her way—the ones where Ginny is sure he’s recalling the sights and sounds of their escapades purely from the heat in his gaze and the wicked curve of his mouth—technically _are_ silent for all they feel like a physical presence whenever she catches him at it.

And she catches him a lot.

But he doesn’t actually sayanything. Doesn’t do anything, either. Nothing to indicate that their library interlude or the hook up that preceded it are anything more than fond memories. Nothing to imply he wants a repeat performance.  

It should probably be a relief. And for a while, it is. It’s nice not having to worry that Mike’s going to ambush her as she walks to class and drag her off to some secluded corner to have his way with her again. Or let Ginny have her way with him... Anyway, it’s one less thing for Ginny to worry about. But once midterms are over and she can relax enough to turn her mind away from 24/7 academics, it’s honestly something of a letdown. And more than a little frustrating. 

(Which Ginny is left to work out on her own. Well, with a little battery-powered help.

Okay. A lot of battery-powered help.)

Every so often, she seriously considers finding someone else to scratch her itch since Mike’s apparently decided this thing is over. Just because her every sexual encounter before him ended in disappointment didn't mean that every one after him would, too. Right?

In the end, though, Ginny always decides against it. She isn’t ready to know whether she’s suddenly become much easier to please, or if it’s all Mike Lawson.

(She has a few suspicions as it is.)

So, Ginny contents herself with her slim vibrator. Well, she tells herself she does. 

After all, there’s no proof that it’s the memory of Mike’s weight bearing down on her, his breath puffing against her skin as he drives her wild, that gets her off each and every time. Just like there's no proof that Ginny can't seem to content herself with just one orgasm lately and has therefore worn down more batteries than she'd thought possible.  

It doesn’t help that they do see each other so often. Between team work outs and strategy meetings and bullpen sessions, Ginny can't seem to keep her mind out of the gutter. It’s a lot of time spent in close proximity, egging one another on, teasing and ribbing and otherwise pretending that they don’t know what the other looks like naked and coming apart. On the outside, at least. If that's nearly all that goes through Ginny's mind, that's her business as long as she's still throwing well. And she does. Even if the fact that Mike often works out with his shirt off, barrel chest and burly arms glistening as he lifts weights or runs on the treadmill only makes playing at indifference harder.

From experience, sweaty, half-naked Mike Lawson is only slightly less distracting than when he’s completely naked.

And the smug smirks he sends her way when he catches her looking? Yeah, they don’t help, either.

It’d be mortifying—seriously, the stereotypical cocky ballplayer’s what gets her going?—if it weren’t such a turn on. And if she didn’t catch Mike checking out her ass on a pretty regular basis. The way he always jerks his gaze away, ears and cheeks flushing pink as he does, at least gives Ginny a chance to be the smug one for a change.

It makes her wonder if Mike hasn't decided this thing is behind them. If he wants more from her, but isn’t sure that she does, too. If he’s just waiting for her to make a move. 

Well, if that's the case, she's more than happy to oblige him.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait long. The Aztecs have a pre-season scrimmage this weekend and, as per tradition, their captain is throwing a party for some last minute “team bonding.”

Ginny can definitely work with that. 

After all, this whole thing started with a team get together. Maybe she can bring it to an end with one, too. 

(Which is not to say that Ginny wants this thing with Mike to come to an end. If she gets her way, that won’t happen for a long time. She would, however, love to put all this uncertainty behind them.

And if she ends the night in Mike’s bed? All the better.)

Unfortunately, though, there’ll be no booze-fueled party games to hide behind tonight. Their game in the morning is only an exhibition, but Ginny’s under no illusions that Mike or the rest of the team will let that dull their competitive edge. She certainly won’t. Not when they're playing Cal Poly.

But that’s a worry for tomorrow. 

Tonight, Ginny has other things to focus on.

Namely, how to convince Mike that she’d like another go around (and, God, just so much more) with him.

She starts small, a lingering hug when she arrives, later than most of the guys. What’s the point of getting there early and riling them both up when their teammates are bound to show up to interrupt? It's not like Mike going to just cancel the party because she gets her hands down his pants. And, knowing him, he'd come up with an appropriately vindictive payback. 

(That Ginny's pretty sure she'd end up enjoying that payback, just means a late arrival is the right choice.)

“Had to make an entrance, Baker?” Mike asks, dry in spite of the way his arms had tightened around her waist before releasing her. His hands skim across her back as he pulls away, and it takes all of Ginny's willpower not to follow.

“You know me, cap,” she jokes, reveling in the way his eyes darken. God, had she known how much he likes that, or just suspected? Either way, it’s a long beat before he breaks away to usher her inside. 

Her hand trails across his stomach as she goes and Ginny’s sure she doesn’t imagine the ragged breath he draws in.

It becomes something of a game. One that Mike catches onto pretty quickly, and resolves to win even faster. For every lingering touch she lands on him, Ginny gets two back, like now that the dam’s broken, Mike can’t keep himself away. She can't help but wonder how hard it was for him, keeping his distance all these weeks. He's certainly making up for lost time now. He finds every gap in her clothing—wiggling between the waist of her jeans and the small of her back, straightening the collar of her shirt, brushing lint from her sleeve—with stunning accuracy. As if that isn’t enough, each time, he pins her down with a stare heavy with promise. 

If Ginny’d had any doubts that he still wants her, they rapidly fade. 

Just as rapidly as she begins to wish she’d picked a different occasion for this. Apparently, showing up a little late wasn't enough of a precaution. Much as she loved the guys, was glad she'd become part of this team, she really wished they weren't here.

Because it wasn’t as if she could just ask them to leave so Mike could—

Well.

Ginny excuses herself from the Mario Kart tournament. The heat of Mike’s thigh pressed against hers, as well as his smell and his smile and honestly  _everything_  about him, has gone to her head. She's come dead last the past three races and is losing all her hard earned cred.

She escapes to the kitchen and rummages around his cupboards for a clean glass. Just as she finds the right cabinet, a voice—one that sends shivers racing along her arms—breaks into the relative quiet. Ginny can still hear the shouts and trash talk from the other room, but it all fades as every fiber of her being stands on alert, straining towards Mike. 

“Making yourself right at home, aren’t you?”

She plucks a cup from the shelf and goes to the sink to start filling it before responding. “What, should I just let myself die of thirst?” Ginny turns and leans against the counter to take a sip, studying the man whose succeeded in driving her to distraction tonight. He leans against the open doorway, strong, buff arms crossed over his broad, plaid covered chest. His head cocks to the side as he studies her, so Ginny arches a brow over the rim of her glass.

Finally, he shakes his head and grins. “You really that thirsty?”

She is. In more ways than one.

Ginny sets the empty glass in the sink behind her without once breaking eye contact. “I’ve hit a bit of a dry spell,” she admits, head tilting to the side. 

Delight sparks in Mike’s eye and his grin turns dangerous. He pushes off the door and prowls towards her. Ginny holds her ground. Not that there’s anywhere for her to go, with the sink at her back. 

Not that there’s anywhere she  _wants_  to go. 

“Dry, huh?” he smirks and Ginny just manages to keep herself from rubbing her thighs together. After the night she’s had and the way Mike’s currently looking at her, there’s no way she’s still  _dry_. “Maybe you need more than a glass of water to help you with that.”

Ginny blinks up at him, slow and maybe a little sultry. Okay, definitely a little sultry. 

It feels… strange to just flirt with her captain. Strange but fucking good. Freeing, even. Not worrying about whether or not she’s been staring too long or if the way she’s touching him is platonic enough not to raise any eyebrows.

She’d really like it to continue.

“You got something in mind, captain?” Ginny teases, thrilling at the way Mike’s jaw clenches and his eyelashes flutter.

Oh, that’s not going to get old any time soon.

“You watch that pretty mouth of yours, Baker,” he warns, closing the final scrap of distance to loom over her. Big, powerful hands land on the counter, right next to her hips, caging her in. His voice is just a rough rumble, hardly loud enough for her to hear over the jeers and shouting of their teammates in the other room.

Ginny tilts her head back and licks her lips. Her stomach clenches and her toes curl when his eyes drop to follow the path of her tongue. When he meets her gaze again, his pupils are blown out. “Or what, Lawson?”

He leans down so his breath can ghost against the shell of her ear, and waits for her to shiver before he promises, “Or I’ll find something better for it to do.”

“Better, huh?” she grins and her knee knocks against the inside of his thigh, not particularly high, but she doesn’t move it away from that light tap and the muscles there bunch and tense. Like he's holding himself in check. Against the catch in her throat, Ginny teases, “That seems awfully cocky.”

Mike pulls away to grin down at her and no doubt tease her mercilessly for her word choice, but before he gets the chance, there’s a muffled thump and curse from the hall. Mutually, Ginny and Mike separate. It's one thing to flirt with each other with their teammates in the next room, it's another to get _caught_. They'd never hear the end of it. 

Unfortunately, the added distance does nothing for the charged current running between them. 

Not even Salvi, Stubbs, and Hinkley stumbling in to rummage through the fridge for more beer does much to dissipate it.

In fact, the way Mike has to turn into the counter, like he’s looking for something in one of the upper cabinets, to hide the bulge in his jeans probably only keys Ginny up even more. Same with the pink tinging the tips of his ears. God, he's too fucking much.

Before she can do anything about it, though, Mike mutters something about needing the bathroom, and beats a hasty retreat out of the kitchen.

The boys, at least, don’t seem to notice anything's amiss, starting up a game of quarters and jostling each other to throw off their bounces.

Ginny, though, stares at the space that Mike’s just left. She can’t get his words out of her head. _“I’ll find something better for it to do_. _”_ Christ.

She doesn’t know what kind of sex-starved maniac she’s turning into, but she does know exactly what Mike’s dick is like, and that is enough to tell her that it occupying her mouth would be better than basically anything.

She can see it now. Sinking to her knees and working his belt and fly open to reveal the tent in his boxers. Pulling the elastic away from his waist and letting his flush, hard cock out into the open air. For the first time, the thought actually excites her. Ginny’s never been particularly into giving head. Sure, she's done it, with both Trevor and Noah, but that's pretty much par for the course with college hookups: blow job, not nearly enough foreplay, a round of less than mind blowing sex, and call it a night. There's something to be said for consistency.

Before Mike, at least.

It's not just that Mike has proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that sex doesn't have to be a disappointment. He's been so focused on getting her off, on making sure she's enjoying herself, that Ginny hasn't had much time to consider him. (Which is about as far from the typical college hookup as it's possible to get. Boys and their dicks.) Maybe it's because she hasn't gotten the chance to go down on him yet, but she really, really wants to. Maybe it's because he hasn't tried to push her head towards his crotch in the middle of sex, too.

Another thing that Ginny’s sure will be different with Mike.

Lots of things are different with Mike.

Her mouth starts to water, which is her cue to get the hell out of there, get back to the rest of the party. Before she does something inadvisable.

But the inadvisable can be so, so tempting.

Which is why Ginny finds her feet taking her through Mike’s apartment. She passes by the open bathroom and keeps going, straight towards his closed bedroom door. 

She doesn’t bother knocking, just slips inside and relatches the door so she has something to lean against while she takes in the sight before her. 

Mike sits on his bed, head bowed and breathing heavily. Honestly, Ginny’s not sure if she’s disappointed that his belt is still buckled, jeans still fastened. 

If she is, it’s a pretty easy remedy. 

Mind made up, she pushes off the door. “You doin’ all right, Mike?”

He looks up, only partway startled. His mouth twists ruefully and he replies, “I’ve been better.”

“Aw, wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Like you don’t know,” he chuckles, leaning back on his hands. 

Ginny takes it as an invitation. What? If he’s gonna just put his lap on display like that, what else should she do?

“I think I’ve got an idea,” she murmurs as she drops into his lap. A pointed roll of her hips confirms her suspicions.

“You really think this is the time?” he rasps and his fingers tighten in the bedspread. He doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. Well, aside from the quivering tension running through him as he struggles not to flip them over and pin her to the mattress. 

She hopes.

But he is right. Letting him fuck her right now, with their team of tipsy to drunk ballplayers in the next room is probably inadvisable. They might be focused on their video game tournament, but there’s no way they’d miss she and Mike going AWOL for God knows how long and coming back entirely too pleased with themselves. Let alone what sounds Ginny might make in the interim. The walls in Mike's apartment aren't  _that_ thick.

 _Still,_  Ginny thinks as she slides out of Mike’s lap to settle on the ground between his spread thighs,  _it’d be cruel not to take the edge off_.

“Do you really think it’s not?” she returns, letting her fingers walk up his inseam, right over the telltale bulge. Even through his boxers and the denim of his jeans, she can feel him twitch.

That seems to make his mind up.

In no time at all, and with Mike’s eager help, Ginny gets his belt and fly open and comes face to face yet again with Not-So-Little Lawson.

God, how had she actually thought he might not be interested in her?

Ginny’s hand wraps around the flushed, solid proof of that interest. She stares at her fingers as they stroke up and down before glancing up to check his reaction. And though his jaw clenches, Mike’s eyes haven’t slid shut, the way she’d expected. Intently, he watches her jerk him off.

Why does that make her cheeks burn and mouth go dry?

Impossibly, he swells in her palm. He’d been so big already, the new weight of him makes Ginny’s thighs clench and her breathing stutter in her chest. There’ll be time for that later, though. So, she settles in, giving Mike a longer, firmer stroke, thumb sweeping up and over the head and coming away slick with his precome. She wonders what he tastes like. 

Well, she's gonna find out soon.

“What’re you doin’, Gin?" Mike practically gasps, his hips lifting helplessly beneath her hands. "Get back up here.”

Yeah fucking right.

She shakes her head and peers up at him through her eyelashes. Never stopping the steady jack of her hand, she purrs, “Wasn’t this what you had in mind?”

“Huh?” Mike’s pupils are totally blown out, the expression on his face close to blissed out. It makes something warm and proud bloom to life in Ginny’s chest. 

“When you said you’d find something better for my mouth to do.”

“Fuck,” is all he can say. To be fair, Ginny chooses that moment to demonstrate exactly what she means: her lips close around the top of his dick, tongue fluttering against the underside.  

She pulls off him with a wet pop and grins. “We’ll get there.”

But not before she goes down on him. 

Ginny applies herself to the task with gusto. She knows that it’s all Mike, that the fact that she’s doing this with _him_ that makes it seem so appealing.

And it is. 

The weight of him on her tongue, combined with the slight tang of leaking precome, it makes Ginny hum and hollow her cheeks, eager for more. She dips down until her lips press against the top of her fist where she’s holding him steady. Then she drags back, tongue gliding against the thick vein on the underside of his cock. If the heavy slide makes her think of Mike’s dick being put to good use elsewhere, that’s between Ginny and her soaking panties.

Her pussy clenches emptily, but she doesn’t pull off him. If all goes to plan, it’ll have plenty to fill it by the time the night’s over. Nothing wrong with a little delayed gratification.

She reapplies herself to her task, swirling her tongue around the flushed head of Mike’s dick as she strokes the rest of the shaft. There’s a groan above her and Ginny darts a glance up. 

Mike leans back on his elbows, like he's unwilling to flop all the way to his back and miss the show. The bottom of his flannel shirt is rucked up, exposing his lower abs and the fine dusting of hair leading from his belly button down to the thicker patch at the base of his dick. Further up, his head tilts to the side, like he’s trying to get a better view of Ginny’s lips wrapped around him. 

Obligingly, she leans back a little, angling him into her mouth and letting her tongue flutter against him. Since she keeps her eyes trained on his face, Ginny can watch the moment Mike has to fight the urge to close his and just ride out the sensations she’s creating. His fingers tangle in the bedspread and he looses a harsh pant. 

“Gin, fuck! You don’t have to—”

His words cut out with a sharp inhale as Ginny bobs back down, her lips sliding an inch further than she’d yet managed. She startles back from his blunt head settling against the back of her throat, but Mike groans, low and fucking hot as hell. God, she wants to hear that sound again.

Before she can, though, his hand comes up and cuffs around the back of her neck, trapping some of her hair. 

“Really,” he gasps, tugging up gently, clearly trying to get her back on the bed, “you don’t need—”

“No, but maybe I  _want_ ,” she returns, arching an eyebrow. To punctuate her point, she gives him a squeeze and a long, practically obscene lick.

“ _Je-_ sus,” is all Mike can say, which is such a departure from the last two times. Then, he hadn't been able to keep his mouth from running, his dirty, filthy words winding Ginny up nearly as much as his attention to her most sensitive spots. Now, it seems like it's all he can do to string a few words together. It's definitely hot in its own way.

And since he gathers up her hair in his fist and holds it out of her face, Ginny takes his latest utterance as an agreement and goes back to work. 

Not that it really feels like work. It doesn’t matter that her jaw will probably ache in the morning, or that she can feel the hardwood of the floor biting into her knees. Mike will make it up to her. And anyway, Ginny likes the stretch in her jaw as she takes him in her mouth. It’s a heady reminder of the way he’s stretched her out before.

And not in the gym. Although, that does present some interesting possibilities...

Ginny’s pulled out of her imaginings by Mike’s fingers tightening in her hair. She whines at the slight tug, liking it more than she’d thought possible. Her thighs rub together in a desperate bid for friction, but thoughts of her relief cut out when Mike tugs, slightly more insistent. 

“Gin,” he gasps, when she looks up, mouth still full. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

She gives him a tiny nod and hollows her cheeks against his tip and twists her fist around the rest of him. 

When Mike realizes what she’s doing, where she wants him, his eyes go wide and he groans in appreciation. His grip on her hair tightens even more just before the rest of him follows suit. 

With a shudder and a muffled grunt, Mike’s release spills across Ginny’s tongue. She continues to suck and jack him off, encouraging the last of his come out. It’s not until Mike collapses back on the mattress, dick finally softening, that she stops. 

Slowly, more to make sure that her legs haven’t gone numb beneath her than any kind of uncertainty, Ginny rises and slinks up Mike’s prone form to lay down by his side. She takes an absurd pride in the ragged rise and fall of his chest. 

“Fuck,” he sighs again, like that’s all he can come up with. His head rolls to the side so he can peer down at her in wonder. Ginny scrunches her nose at the scrutiny, and Mike just huffs out a laugh, winding an arm around her waist. She sticks her tongue out at him and it’s enough to make him freeze with the recent memory of what she’d just done with it. 

Or, so Ginny thinks. 

“Shit, did you swallow?” he asks, intent stare stuck firmly on her mouth. 

Ginny’s never quite understood the fascination most guys seem to have with this question. Once she sees the way Mike’s already dark eyes darken and he rolls her beneath him when she nods in reply, though, she realizes she can appreciate it anyway. 

Mike’s slow and more than a little dazed, all sleepy bedroom eyes and languid movements. He's warmer than she remembers, more like the way he feels when he drapes a sweaty arm over her shoulders after a good run, heat radiating off him in waves. The after effects of a good orgasm, Ginny supposes. Still, in no time at all, he manages to get her jeans unbuttoned and his broad, talented fingers wedged inside. 

He doesn't even make it in her panties, just thumbs against the soaked gusset and still manages to make her moan.

All it takes is a few easy strokes and his murmured encouragement in her ear for Ginny to crest and crash, a low, sweet climax that’s certainly only the beginning. 

If he’s at all smug about it, she’ll say it’s just a testament to how wound up she’s been lately, not his ability to get her off. It’s a flimsy excuse.

It’s laughable, really, how much everyone else she’s ever done this with has struggled to do what comes so naturally to Mike. So she does.

She’s laughing when his mouth plants against her neck, his beard scrubbing against her skin. He works his way lower, nosing aside the baggy collar of her shirt, hands moving from the opposite end to slide under its bottom edge. Ginny’s thoughts are a pleasant haze, wrapped up in Mike and her post-orgasm glow the way she is. Still, she has the presence of mind to wish he’d come  _up_  for a bit, refresh her memory on what a good kisser he is. 

Before Ginny can encourage him to do just that, a harsh vibration between her body and Mike’s startles them apart. 

“Shit! Sorry,” she murmurs as she fishes her phone out of her pocket. That's the problem with not getting naked quick enough. So much harder to ignore interruptions like this.

Mike hums his acceptance and goes back to worrying the start of a massive hickey into her shoulder. 

Focusing on the bright light of her screen takes more effort than Ginny is used to, but she manages. One hand buried in Mike’s hair, the other unlocks her phone to read the text message that’d apparently been so important.

 **Blip**  
_i 100% don’t want to know where you've been the past 20 min or what you’ve been doing, but i’m heading out soon. you coming with?_

Ginny’s cheeks burn. Honestly, she’d nearly forgotten that she and Mike weren’t actually alone. What kind of miracle was it that no one’d come looking for either of them?

Well, maybe that miracle can stretch out for a while longer. If Blip’s already going, then maybe the rest of the guys are, too.

She taps back,  _already left_ , and doesn’t wait for the,  _sure you did_ , that’s bound to come back, just locks her phone and drops it to the mattress. So she can focus on what’s really important. 

Mike and his magical fucking mouth. 

A mouth that is still delightfully preoccupied with mapping Ginny’s skin.

“Who was it?” comes Mike’s muffled voice from somewhere between her chest and neck. It rumbles right into her core, making her arch and clutch him closer. He chuckles a little, which definitely only exacerbates the issue. 

"Just Blip,” she sighs, angling her head to give him better access. “He wants to know if I’m leaving soon.”

“You should,” he murmurs, rough and right against her collarbone. It’d make Ginny shiver if it weren’t for the way it makes her frown.

“I should?” she demands, pulling back as far as she can. Which isn’t far. Still, she needs to look him in the eye after something like that, see if he’s being serious.

When he meets her gaze steadily, her question is answered: He is.

Something fast and hot and not at all pleasant begins to burn in her belly.

He wants her to just  _go_  after all that? All the flirting and the promising looks and the possessive grasps? She should go? He got his dick sucked, so head home, Ginny. You're not needed anymore.

Mike rolls his eyes like he can already hear her indignant response. When Ginny’s chin tips up in defiance, he chuckles, dark and low, grips her jaw in one meaty hand, and  _kisses_  her. 

Maybe it’s the distance or the fact that Ginny’s almost convinced herself she couldn’t have remembered it correctly, but she’s nearly helpless at the onslaught. But, God, how could she have forgotten this? How could she have forgotten what it feels like to kiss Mike Lawson?

Without regard for what she must taste like, Mike’s tongue sweeps into her mouth. He goads her into rallying back, into twining her arms around his neck for better leverage. He even rolls back over, hauling her on top of him. Like she needs the advantage.

A feral smile spreads across his mouth when Ginny growls against him.

Clearly, he’s on a mission to overwhelm her into forgetting her annoyance, leave her dazed and pliable. 

He nearly does. 

When he flips their positions again, Ginny’s so lost in the give and take of their lips and teeth and tongues, that she whines and strains up to continue it when he keeps his distance. Well, his body’s not quite plastered to hers the way it has been the past few minutes, if that counts as distance.

“Go home, Gin,” he says, his lips brushing against hers with every word. It takes every bit of her self-restraint not to reclose the gap, and not just because she disagrees with what he’s saying. “Rest up for tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep.”

 _Because you won’t get one here_ , goes unsaid.

All Ginny can do is stare up at him, too stunned for words. 

He presses a last, fond kiss to her mouth before hauling himself upright and holding out a hand so she can do the same. 

For lack of any other ideas, Ginny follows his lead, rebuttoning her jeans and straightening out her shirt as Mike sorts out his fly and belt. She follows him out of his bedroom and even peels off at the bathroom at his suggestion. He continues on to the living room, to kick out the rest of their teammates. 

Ginny only knows this because she can hear his cheerful demands that they, “Get the hell out of his house,” over the running tap. She hears their good-natured protests, the easy back and forth that only comes from playing together so long. She hears the telltale clamor and uproar as they begin to shuffle out.

It's only then that Ginny splashes her face with the cool water. Unfortunately, it doesn’t bring order to her thoughts. 

On the one hand, Mike is right. They do need to rest up for their scrimmage against Cal Poly tomorrow. Ginny’s supposed to start and she wants,  _needs,_ to put in a good showing...

But on the other,  _how can he just fucking send her home?_

She can’t wrap her mind around it, isn’t sure she actually has the ability to tonight. 

Instead, she waits until she hears the front door close on the last of the team and orders a Lyft. The text message she has to dismiss to do so is from Blip and reads:  _if that’s the story you’re going with. p.s. your purse is by the door_  

The man is certainly predictable. 

When Ginny emerges from the bathroom, she follows the faint sound of clinking glass to find Mike, shaking his head in disgust and wading through the party debris. He tosses cans and bottles in a garbage bag, muttering about "ungrateful idiots," but looks up at her entrance. 

The way his gaze flickers across her form, landing on the darkening spot the collar of her shirt won't quite cover, at least soothes a little bit of Ginny's confused ego. Mike rallies quickly, though, snapping to attention and asking, “Did you walk here? You need a ride back?”

God, if she’d known he’d offer her a ride— Still, she shakes her head and replies honestly, “Car’ll be here in a few.”

He nods easily and abandons cleaning. “I’ll walk you down, then.”

Ginny doesn’t protest, especially since the whole three flights he walks with his hand at the small of her back. It’s reassuring in a way that she’s desperately craving. 

He doesn’t remove it when they make it down to the tiny lobby, and stand together peering out into the street. Thankfully, the sidewalk is empty, no sign of their teammates. 

Mike’s thumb caresses up and down and Ginny shivers. 

“Cold?” he asks, throwing her a sidelong glance. 

Her mouth twists. “You know that’s not it.”

“I’ve got my suspicions, but I won’t know for sure unless you tell me.”

“Don’t hold your breath, old man.”

He laughs and it doesn’t  _not_  warm Ginny down to her toes. “You’d think I’d get more respect from you—”

“What, because you’ve managed to get me off a couple times?”

“More than a couple, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Nah,” she returns, grinning. “Your memory’s going.”

This, Ginny can do. The flirty, light banter? That's easy. It’s easy to forget that Mike’s sent her into something of a tailspin tonight. It’s easy to think that this thing between them isn’t rapidly growing and evolving into something more. More confusing and uncertain and even a little scary.

It’s easy to think that she doesn’t desperately want something more anyway. 

Especially when Mike’s pitch drops a solid half octave and he leans in to murmur, “Maybe I’m just visualizing what’s to come, then.”

Ginny shivers again, just as her phone buzzes, alerting them both to her ride’s arrival. Hastily, she steps away, pushing against the door before he speaks one last time.

“See you in the morning, Baker.”

He smacks her ass and gives her a cocksure grin when she whirls on him. He lifts his chin and Ginny can only roll her eyes and shake her head in disbelief, a dry huff of laughter escaping her in spite of herself. When he stares her down, she grudgingly gives him a nod back. The boyish, pleased smile that blooms out of his cocky grin hits her right between the lungs. 

_This is the guy I’m—_

Well. 

The ride back to campus passes by in a flash, Ginny too wrapped up in her own frustration—seriously, she’d been counting on way more than one orgasm tonight—and confusion to take in the San Diego night.

When she gets back to her dorm, things haven’t become any clearer. And while she doesn’t have a good solution for her uncertainty with Mike, there’s always a good outlet for a little sexual frustration. 

Eagerly, Ginny shimmies out of her jeans and shirt, not even bothering to shed her underwear—to be fair, they’re a frilly lace set that never fail to make her feel intimidatingly sexy. It's a good feeling to have after the run around she's just gone through.

Appropriately attired, she then rummages through the bottom drawer in her desk and comes up triumphantly with her vibrator. 

A swift twist to the base, though, kills any hope of a little solo action. The weak buzz the vibe emits dies quickly and reminds Ginny all at once that she hadn’t bothered to buy any replacement batteries. 

God, why hadn’t she bought more batteries?

Because she thought she wouldn’t be needing them in the near future, that’s why.

She huffs and collapses into bed. The student store is already closed and she’s not about to go wake up one of her neighbors for a couple of AAs so she can get herself off.

Needless to say, she’s worked up, eager, and more than a little frustrated. With no outlet for any of it other than her own fingers. And lately, her fingers have not been cutting it. Not when she’s got the vivid memories of someone else’s fingers (and dick and lips and tongue) doing the job so well.

Which is why Ginny finds herself composing a highly inappropriate text message to the man who's responsible for it all. He’s the one who got her so worked up, he's the one she can't stop thinking about, he's the one who's ruined her for anyone—including herself, apparently!—else. He should have to help her do something about it. Even if it's only going to be over the phone.

She even takes a picture to send with her message. After all, she'd put on this bra and panty set with the express intention of making Mike tongue-tied. It'd be a shame to miss out on the opportunity. 

So, she rolls around in bed, searching for the perfect angle, admiring the play of light and shadow off her skin, the softness of curve compared to the strength of sinew. Mike won't know what hit him. Finally, she snaps something just right.

Nothing with her face, though. Well, not all of it.

(She’s learned her lesson on that front.)

It’s just her lips, slightly open and tongue peeking out between her teeth, and then the long column of her neck leading to the smooth skin of her chest. The mark that Mike had begun to work into her collarbone is already darkening, a reddish bruise against otherwise bronze skin. Her hair splays out in mess of dark curls, kissing the tops of her mostly bare shoulders. At the bottom of the image, the swell of her tits is pushed up and held in by the sheer, lacy cups of her bra. Barely. 

It’s actually pretty hot. The kind of picture Ginny’d want to get from a girl she’s kind of/sort of/maybe seeing.

She stares at it and the message— _not sure a good night’s sleep is in the cards for me. any ideas?—_ for a long time. Finally, with a few taps, the words are gone, and the picture is sent to her phone’s Recently Deleted folder. 

Ginny drags herself out of bed and begins gathering her shower supplies. She’ll need a long, cold one if sleep's anywhere in her future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. It has been too long. So long that I'm pretty sure my smut writing muscles have atrophied. I'm not sure that this matches the tone of the other chapters, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I threw in a very half-hearted attempt at plot, but please feel free to ignore it. 
> 
> Anyway, for those of you playing along at home, I did bump up the chapter count on this guy, but I am positive the next chapter's the last. It'll be fun, promise! Hope you'll all stick it out with me, and I will try to finish this up in a more timely manner. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts/reactions/concerns for my time management skills. Thanks!!


	4. four times is forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the game, Ginny'd been planning on getting Mike alone as soon as possible. But he's got a few things on his mind.

For a team that’d just won their first preseason game, the mood on the bus ride home from Cal Poly is pretty dire. There’s no joking, no horsing around. Everyone sits firmly in their seat, the only conversations hushed and furtive, in between nervous glances towards the back of the bus.

The back of the bus where their illustrious captain sits, moodily taking up the entire three person bench. Even the generous cushion of empty seats around him isn’t quite enough to insulate the rest of the bus from his sulk.

(Given his proximity to the bus bathroom, Ginny’s willing to bet more than a few of her teammates are nursing full bladders and some very unkind thoughts.)

No one’s been brave enough to approach him. 

Not even Ginny.

He needs time to stew. Stew over going 0 for 3 at the plate and airmailing a throw down. Stew over being yanked from his game in favor of Livan, who, to be fair, had not taken the change gracefully. 

Ginny gets it, she does. But. 

She’s got plans to  _ruin_  that boy in the very near future. His time for pouting is pretty limited.

Not that Ginny even knows  _why_  he’s pouting.

Mike’s gone on longer hitless streaks. This certainly wasn’t the first time a backup catcher finished a game for him. It’s never gotten under his skin like this, so quickly. Never made him retreat and pout for so long. Usually, Mike takes a couple minutes to recoup and bounces back, trading insults and jokes in no time at all.

And while Ginny has to admit he looks pretty good with his arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining the sleeves of his t-shirt, frowning forbiddingly at his reflection in the window, they’re both symptoms that something’s bothering him.

Well, he’s got another hour before they make it back to campus. And then she’s taking him back to his apartment so he can make up for leaving her high (and, okay, not quite) dry last night. Or her dorm. Hell, she might settle for his truck if he can find a private enough parking spot. 

She’ll leave him to it for now. 

(Not just because she’s pretty sure that once she’s through with him, Mike won’t be capable of remembering much more than her name, let alone brooding.)

Instead, she turns to her nearest teammate. 

“You ever think it might be a good idea to get on  _someone’s_  good side around here?”

Lazily, Livan’s head lolls to the side so he can study her. A smirk plays over his mouth as he replies, “I’m on  _your_  good side, aren’t I,  _mami_?”

“Only sometimes,” she lobs back, which is true enough. 

Livan doesn’t get on her nerves nearly as much as he does the other guys. It’s gotta be some alpha male bullshit, and Ginny’s well pleased to stay out of that mess. Still, if she can convince him to ease up, it’d do wonders for team morale. And if Mike’s not worrying about his backup potentially detonating the team, he can focus on other things.

Namely: getting her off as often as possible. And more if that’s something he’s interested in. 

Ginny hopes he is.

“Seriously,” she continues, leaning across the aisle in an effort to keep this conversation semi-private. Livan leans in, too, though it looks like he’s enjoying a secret of his own, smirking at her knowingly. Or maybe that’s just what his face looks like. “It’d make your life so much easier if half the team weren’t always conspiring to knock you down a peg or three.”

“They’re just jealous,” he says, waving off her suggestion. Behind her, Blip snorts, but doesn’t make any other indication that he’s paying attention. Livan eyes the center fielder suspiciously before turning back to Ginny. That suspicion melts away as he raises his eyebrows at her, smirk back at home. Too obvious to be anything but theatrical, he eyes her up and down, lifting his chin invitingly. “You know, on the field isn’t the only place I score.”

Ginny laughs. She can’t help it. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he’s being serious. But when his eyebrows waggle, she laughs again, a little louder. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard you have quite the fan club,” she says, not even bothering to keep a straight face. 

“Yes. They’ll miss me when I get drafted.” 

He’s so confident as he says it, like it’s a sure thing. That is one thing Ginny envies about Livan. He probably will get drafted, even with his attitude and even when scouts have been pretty few and far between at their games. 

Before she can knock a little air out of that big head of his, her phone buzzes in her sweatshirt pocket.

**Mike**   
_can you keep it down? some of us are trying to sleep._

When Ginny cranes around to look, she catches sight of several of her teammates passed out, but none of them look that annoyed by her outburst. 

Well, none of them but Mike. 

He glares pointedly out the window, though it doesn’t look like he’s done anything to make himself comfortable let alone help him fall asleep.

 _am i disturbing your beauty rest, old man?_  she texts back anyway.

**Mike**   
_you and boy wonder_

Ginny glances sidelong at Livan. The other catcher smirks as he watches her with her phone, but doesn’t comment. Although, she’s pretty sure there are several floating around that big head of his. Pointedly, he pulls his headphones on and closes his eyes, leaving Ginny to it.

She sighs and cuts straight to the chase. There’s no point in coddling him, not when he’s being ridiculous.

Which is exactly what she tells him.

_you know you’re being ridiculous, right?_

**Mike**   
_fuck off baker._

_you fuck off_ , she sends back, feeling her temper rise.  _you had a bad fucking game. get over it._

It’s a long five minutes before he finally responds. Ginny stubbornly stares out her window the entire time, refusing to look back and see what’s taking him so long. 

**Mike**   
_i’m trying_

As far as responses go, it’s not exactly satisfying.

_try harder._

By some miracle, Mike’s barking laugh rings through the bus. The few Aztecs who are still awake trade relieved smiles, grateful that whatever’d crawled up their captain’s ass is firmly in the past, and they won’t have to pay for it at practice tomorrow. 

Ginny, personally, can’t quite believe that's all it took. 

So, she’s suspicious when she taps out,  _what are you doing?_

And more suspicious when his response is almost immediate.

**Mike**   
_nothing  
is this where you ask what I’m wearing?_

It’s far enough out of left field that she can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of her. Ginny ignores any sly, knowing looks Livan might be sending her way, angles her phone so Blip can’t read it between the cracks in the seats, and composes her reply.

_why would i ask that? i saw what you were wearing when you got on the bus and refused to sit next to me_

Mike ignores her jab, instead sending a flurry of responses. 

 **Mike**  
 _that’s how these things always go, baker._  
someone asks what you’re up to  
you say: not much, how bout you?  
they reply: not much. what are you wearing?

Figures he’d be a double texter. He does love to hear himself talk. _  
_

_they do, huh?_

**Mike**   
_more or less._   
_has no one ever taught you to sext?_

It’s not precisely true. It’s not even a little true, actually. Most of the baseball players in the Mountain West Conference have seen evidence pretty definitively proving otherwise. 

Fucking Trevor and the fucking cloud. 

If Mike wants to pretend he doesn’t remember Selfiegate, or that they just played against the guy who let it happen, Ginny can play along.

_is that really something that needs to be taught?_

**Mike**  
 _i’m taking that as a “yes, mike. no one ever taught me to sext.”_  
jesus, the guys you’ve slept with have done you wrong. what the hell did you ever see in them anyway?  
can’t show you proper sexting etiquette.  
can’t get you off

There’s enough of a pause that Ginny can consider sending back,  _whatever did i do before you came along?_  

But before she can set her fingers to the keys, one more bubble pops up on her screen. 

**Mike**   
_so... what’re you up to?_

Ginny just manages to stifle her giggle, tucking her chin to her shoulder even as her fingers fly across the keyboard. 

_you really wanna start this now? you wanna finish the rest of the ride with a hard on you can’t do anything about?_

**Mike**   
_i’d survive.  
it’d be a hell of a pick me up._

Ginny bites her lip, staring down at the screen. On the one hand, there’s no doubt in her mind that Mike wants her as much as she wants him. Might even want more than this casual thing they’ve been doing for all Ginny’s never actually seen him date. 

On the other, he’s being so fucking unfathomable about it all, it’s easy to forget sometimes. 

_... do you actually need a pick me up?_

If he can joke about dirty pictures and sexting with her, she’s inclined to think he’s pulling himself out of his funk all on his own. But the idea of sending Mike a little something is thrilling anyway. Thrilling enough that Ginny rubs her thighs together in anticipation.

**Mike**   
_what do I get if I say yes?_

Before Ginny can rethink this plan, she’s scrolling through her camera roll, finding the picture she’d taken last night, lonely and frustrated and wanting him to feel a little of the same, at the top of her Recently Deleted folder, and sending it to him.

Even all the way across the bus, Ginny can feel the air between her and Mike go taut and electric the second the picture hits his phone. She checks the urge to turn around and look at him, but she’s sure he’s at least risen out of his slump. Maybe the furrows in his forehead have smoothed out, or at least turned from anger to surprise, his eyebrows creeping upwards. The picture isn’t risqué enough to make him need to shift and readjust, not on it’s own.

Then again, Mike’s proven that he’s got a pretty good imagination and an outstanding appreciation of her body.

Maybe he is readjusting in his seat as he types out his reaction. 

Honestly, Ginny’s expecting a message demanding she get her ass back there any minute.

Except, it never comes. Mike doesn’t flood her phone with notifications the way he has been since he first rallied back from his foul mood. He doesn’t even respond. Not to the picture and not to Ginny’s long line of question marks. 

When she brings herself to look back at him, under the guise of stretching out her back, he’s resumed staring stubbornly out the window. 

It’s not exactly a confidence boost. 

She collapses back into her seat, thoughts racing.

What happened? They’d been flirting right? She wasn’t out of bounds sending that picture, was she? 

What the fuck is his problem? 

She wants answers goddamn it. And she’s gonna get them.

Ginny shoves out of her seat and starts down the aisle towards him. She knows she’d resolved to let him stew in peace, but really, she’s got no interest in talking him out of his mood when they could be spending their time in much pleasanter ways? While they’re stuck on the bus, they might as well hash this out. And given the three seat radius of clear space around him, they might actually be able to do it in something like privacy. 

Except, when he sees her coming, he fucking turns his back on her, hunching his shoulders so he can brood in peace. 

Still, she flops down next to him, ignoring the low, impressed whistle Salvi emits from four rows away.

“Beat it, Baker,” Mike mutters gruffly. When she shows no indication of listening, he winces and straightens out his back, staring moodily at the seat in front of him. “If I wanted to talk to you, I'd’ve kept texting you.”

“And here I thought I’d shocked you speechless,” Ginny drawls, ignoring the sting of his words. “Had to come back and make sure I hadn’t given you a heart attack.”

He snorts but still won’t look at her. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Ginny can’t even reply, “Not from me,” because she has no idea if it’s true. She wants to believe Mike and the rest of her teammates never looked at those pictures when they leaked, but she knows better. 

Maybe he has.

The silence lingers between them for a beat too long when Mike betrays himself.

He’s harsh, sneering, when he demands, “You take that one for me or someone else?” 

“What do you think, asshole?” she snaps, hating that he’s got her on the defensive. That wasn’t what she wanted when she came back here.

He shrugs, like the answer doesn’t matter, and Ginny blinks and bursts to her feet rather than explode.

Once standing, she falters. She’s not gonna head back to her seat, tail between her legs just because Mike’s being a little nasty. So, she pivots, wrenches open the door to the cramped bathroom, and wedges herself in.

At least she’s reasonably confident that no one will try and barricade her inside. Just one of many reasons she’s grateful she transferred to San Diego. 

Until this recent bout of whateve _r_ 's eating him, Mike's been one of the most important of those reasons. Not just as her captain and teammate. He’s her friend. Ever since he followed her up to her dorm room, he’s been the friend who’s getting her off, too.

And, damn it. Yes. Okay? She wants him to be more. Practically aches for Mike to be more than just her fuck buddy. Has been nursing a stupid, impossible crush on him since basically her first practice with the team when he swaggered up to her and drawled, “Well, if it isn’t Ginny Baker in the flesh.”

That she’d left that encounter knowing exactly what his ass felt like beneath her palm certainly didn’t hurt.

She huffs and pumps some hand sanitizer from the dispenser just for something to do.

Ginny doesn’t have time for this— _this_  being Mike’s unfathomable mood swings. Not if she’s going to claim the orgasms he’d practically robbed her of last night. They’re gonna be back on campus soon. If Mike hasn’t worked out whatever’s bugging him by the time they do, she’s honestly not sure anything she does will help. And Ginny’s willing to go the distance to cheer him up.

But if he’s not willing to be cheered up, what is she supposed to do?

He can’t possibly be the only person on the planet capable of getting her off.

It’s enough to make Ginny frown in worry. 

Well, one last attempt to cajole him into a good humor probably isn’t out of order. Just for the sake of her sexual welfare.

But what can she do? They’d been texting, flirting, and things had been going well. And then she’d sent the picture and everything ground to a halt. It definitely hadn’t cheered him up the way she wanted. 

What will? 

In a flash, the library springs to mind. 

It is, in all honesty, not so unusual for Ginny to spend a few pleasant minutes reliving that particular memory. Usually while alone in her room, wearing through another set of batteries, but the point stands. Currently, it’s something it’s something that happened after what she usually dwells on that’s caught her attention.

A wad of lace and cotton sticking out of Mike’s front pocket, like he wasn’t planning on giving them back if she didn’t notice.

Well. That’s certainly something.

Ginny catalogs what underwear she’s got on today and grins. So, maybe she’d taken some extra time getting ready this morning, making sure her legs (and other parts) were shaved smooth, throwing her nice lotion in her gear bag for after her post-game shower. And maybe she’d picked out a special set of underwear to go (to Mike’s) home in, too. All delicate black lace and sheer panels that don’t leave much to the imagination. 

Working quickly and touching as few surfaces in the cubicle as possible, Ginny strips herself of her underwear and wriggles back into her leggings. She can’t quite look herself in the eye in the dull mirror as she steps back out into the aisle. 

Mike twitches towards her, apparently unable to keep up the cold shoulder the way he wants. It’s good news for her. If he were really wrapped up in his bad mood, he wouldn’t notice her at all. 

Ginny takes half a step away before stopping and bending over. If she angles her ass towards him, it’s all part of her plan. 

As she straightens, she turns back to him, holding out her hand. “Lawson, I think you dropped something.”

Her fingers unfurl and a crumpled ball of black lands in Mike’s lap. Before he can ask what the fuck she’s talking about, Ginny glides away up the aisle and back to her seat.

She can just imagine the look on his face as he straightens out the ball and realizes he’s holding her panties, still warm from resting so close to her skin.

The last twenty minutes of the ride are practically unbearable. Ginny fidgets in her seat and forces herself to face forward. Livan keeps shooting her glances out of the corner of his eye, but he hasn’t commented. 

Smart boy. 

Her thighs rub together and she starts to pray that she doesn’t soak through her leggings before they get to campus. There’s a good chance she will anyway. Hey, it’s not her fault her imagination’s run away with her.

Okay, maybe it’s a little her fault. But Mike deserves some of the blame, too. 

If he could’ve just held onto his mood from this morning—he’d smacked her ass and then his gum before sending her out to the mound, offering her a cocky grin full of promise, and not just for the game—she wouldn’t be so fucking antsy, wondering if this gambit will work. 

She’d still be in danger of soaking through her leggings, but at least she’d also have her underwear as an extra layer of protection. She’d also be sitting next to Mike, letting him know just how worked up he’s gotten her.

Ginny’s out of her seat, shouldering her backpack before the bus has even pulled to a complete stop in the parking lot of the campus athletic facilities. 

“Got somewhere to be, mami?” Livan teases, climbing to his feet with far less haste. 

“I hope so,” she mutters, ignoring any confusion that response causes. 

Of course, there’s really no point in getting off the bus so quickly, not with Mike all the way at the back and taking his own sweet time disembarking, too. Ginny hovers near the door, trying to look like she’s not waiting for him and probably not succeeding. Still, none of her teammates give her shit about it, so that counts as a win. 

And then Mike appears. He’s got his backpack slung over a shoulder and an inscrutable expression on his face.

He sweeps an unimpressed glare across his teammates and they scatter to the wind, leaving only Ginny. Stalking down the last few steps, he comes towards her, and she shivers, a little breathless at the picture he paints.

As soon as Mike’s close enough, he grabs her arm and begins steering her towards his truck.

“Watcha doin’, captain?” she drawls, letting him.

Now that he’s settled that he won’t ignore her, that his unreadable look isn’t anger—he’s just trying to get them both out of here, and fast—most of Ginny’s fears subside. Mike’s gonna take her home, she’ll fuck the last of his bad mood out of him, he’ll get her off a few more times in gratitude, and then she can get him to spill when he’s sleepy and unguarded. Satisfied with this plan, it’s easy to tease him.

“You left something at my place, rookie,” he grits out. “I’m taking you to get it.”

“Why didn’t you just bring it with you?”

The question is mostly for the benefit of their teammates, even if they’re going out of their way to avoid their captain frogmarching their mouthy pitcher through the parking lot.

His answer, though, is all for her.

He steps in close, his hard dick pressing against her backside, proof positive that she’s not the only one who spent the past twenty minutes stewing in her own arousal. Which now kicks up more than a few notches. But it's the rough rumble of his voice that really gets Ginny going.

“What makes you think I didn’t?" he growls, right into her ear.

Ginny struggles not to moan aloud, but she can’t do anything about the shiver that races down her spine. Maybe she could’ve done something about the roll of her hips against him, but she didn’t want to, and that’s what matters. Especially when Mike’s breath puffs helplessly against her neck, his fingers tightening for a second around her arm. He picks up the pace and Ginny willingly matches him, more than ready to get in his car and go.

Thank God it’s such a short ride from the athletic facility to Mike’s place. Any longer than the ten minutes and Ginny thinks she might’ve convinced him to pull over on a quiet street so they could take the edge off. If they could find somewhere really secluded, she’s pretty sure they’d make good use of his flatbed.

As it is, Mike drives in tense silence, jaw clenched and grip white-knuckled on the wheel. The longer Ginny studies him, the more she thinks it’s not just repressed lust. 

He might actually be pissed. 

Ginny can’t figure out what to say. “What’s wrong?” feels too much like admitting that something is, in fact, wrong. Teasing him feels out of the question. Pointless small talk seems, well, pointless. 

So, they sit in steadily building tension, coming ever closer to Mike’s place and what Ginny’s increasingly sure is going to be a blow up.

All too soon, he’s parking and they’re climbing out of the car. As they go inside, Ginny can’t help but think how different this is from last night. She’s just as confused, but then, she’d had Mike’s hand soft on her back, guiding her down the stairs. Now she climbs them with Mike right next to her but as good as a million miles away. Deliberately, he keeps himself separate from Ginny, not letting even the back of his hand brush against hers. 

Like the minute he does, everything’s going to explode.

Sure enough, once they make it in his door, that fine thread of control snaps. 

Mike’s hands shove into Ginny’s hair, not quite cradling her face. It’s a little too rough for that, especially when he walks her straight into the wall, her shoulders hitting hard enough that she lets out a grunt of surprise. 

That grunt is swallowed up by Mike’s mouth sealed against hers. He doesn’t take his time to coax her lips open, to tease and play the way Ginny’s gotten used to. Instead, he goes hard and rough right out of the gate, his tongue plunging past her lips, sweeping into her mouth. His teeth scrape against her lips, nipping more firmly than he has before. He pulls at her bottom lip and sucks harshly before going back to doing his best to map out her mouth with his tongue.

Mike wants control and he fucking takes it. 

Ginny doesn’t particularly mind. 

But she’s not quite sure what she’s done to deserve it.

She pulls back, head thudding against the wall and breathing harshly. Mike doesn’t follow, just stares her down with dark eyes and red lips. Ginny can’t look away from her reflection in his blown out pupils. She looks positively wrecked, nearly falling apart from one kiss.

Finally, he scoffs a huff of laughter and leans back in. But rather than kiss her again, he pants, right into her ear, “What the fuck are you doing to me, Baker?”

“Pretty sure I’m turning you on,” she returns tipping up her chin in challenge. She might not know what’s going through Mike’s mind right now, but she’s not going to put up with his shit. To prove her point, she hitches a leg over his hip and uses the leverage to grind against him. Sure enough, his hard on hasn’t flagged one bit. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he bites back, and somehow that doesn’t sound like a good thing.

Ginny tries smiling, curling her fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, nails rasping against his scalp. Almost against his will, he leans into her touch, a little tension fleeing his shoulders. “Good,” she breathes, and tips her face back up to his, trying to catch his mouth.

“Not good.” Mike remembers himself and tears away. Ginny feels a piece of herself go with him. “Not good because I can’t concentrate knowing that this isn’t real to you—”

“Not real?” Where the hell did he get that from?

Mike, though, barrels on like she hasn’t said anything. He starts to pace the length of his couch, where just last night they’d sat pressed side to side as their teammates played video games. “I can’t just be one in a line. Just the one who gets you off. This isn’t a game to me, Ginny. I want you, and—”

“I want you!” she explodes, cutting him off as effectively as she’s ever done. Ginny steps away from the wall and right into his path. “Jesus, Mike, why the hell would I sleep with you if I didn’t want you?”

His shock transforms into disappointment that he covers up with a half-hearted sneer, and Ginny thinks she might begin to understand. “And that’s all you want. You just want me to get you off—”

“Fuck you! You don’t know what I want. You’ve never fucking asked!”

“Then what do you want?” Ginny knows she shouldn’t appreciate how broad he is when he’s using that mass to loom over her, but she’s human, okay? He glares down at her, anything to cover up how uncertain he is. “Because I thought I’d be okay just getting to sleep with you, I thought that could be enough, but fucking Davis—”

“What does Trevor have to do with any of this?”

That’s easier to address than the fact that Mike does want more from her. They can get to that when they’ve cleared all this up.

Mike runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. It’s fucking adorable. Even though his behavior is anything but.

“Fucking Davis wants you back,” he grouses, throwing his hands in the air, “he wouldn’t stop fucking talking about it all game, and it’s just a reminder that you’d date him, but not me—”

“I would date you,” she blurts, which halts Mike’s train of thought more efficiently than Ginny could’ve imagined. She repeats, as he stares at her, shellshocked, the things she’s come to realize lately. “I would date you. You’re graduating at the end of the year. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just. You never asked, Mike.”

“I did,” he protests, immediate.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure I’d remember if you did.”

His brow furrows as he thinks this over. When it dawns on him, he laughs, the tense line of his shoulders loosening. Ginny eyes him warily as he flops back against the couch. Mike, though, smiles up at her wonderingly. “I didn’t ask.”

“No,” she agrees, still squinting at him suspiciously.

Mike just laughs again. “I was going to! Fuck. That day in the library. I was going to ask, but we got interrupted.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I didn’t ask.”

Ginny crosses her arms skeptically. “And what? You just forgot that one very important detail, but were going to keep sleeping with me?”

He shrugs. “Better than nothing. I was expecting you to say no anyway, and midterms kinda fried my brain.”

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him, but there’s too much fondness for even her ears to make it sound like an actual insult.

“Yeah.”

Mike just stares at her, but he  _still doesn’t ask_. Ginny shifts, waiting, but finally gives up.

“Maybe I should go.”

He doesn’t protest, so she sighs and turns away. She’s actually halfway to the door before Mike bursts into action. His steps behind her are loud, rushed, but it’s still almost a surprise when he catches her arm for the second time today and tugs. Ginny’s got no choice but to go to him. 

Well. There’s always a choice. But she’d be lying if she said she weren’t interested in finding out what he has to say for himself. 

His hand slides up from her wrist to cup her elbow, drawing her closer. The other lands on her neck, thumb sweeping against her taut jaw. Standing like they are, Ginny’d have to tilt her head back to look up at him. She refuses, staring at the little triangle of skin between his open collar and the base of his neck. It’s a good part to stare at. Until Mike tips her chin up, at least. Then, she’s looking him in the eye. 

“Don’t go. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just— It’s not an excuse, it shouldn’t be an excuse, but I want you so much. Being reminded that I’m not the only one who does—”

“You know you weren’t the only one before you decided to get jealous about Trevor, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he snarks. “You’re super fucking hot and everyone knows it.”

“As long as you can admit it.”

He smiles, impossibly fond. “Let me make it up to you. I was being a dick and you didn’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t,” she agrees, swaying towards him.

“I know.”

And then his lips are against hers. It’s far sweeter this time around, his arms soft around her and his mouth gentle. His beard doesn’t rasp against her skin, it’s more of a tickle. Mike presses in close and holds her, apology in every movement, every caress of his lips and hands. Ginny trembles and has to wind her arms around his neck to stop. She squeezes her eyes shut and tells herself this is real. 

It is. It’s soft and sweet and still not at all what she wants.

Ginny pulls back and Mike nuzzles against her cheek.

“This is nice, but it’s not making up for you being a dick,” she tells him, as baldly as possible.

Mike laughs and he’s done it a lot since he realized what a douchebag he was being, but this sounds even better. Good enough that Ginny joins in, leaning her forehead against his shoulder for a second. But just a second because without warning, she’s being boosted into the air. In spite of her shriek of surprise, Ginny winds her legs around his hips, her feet digging into his ass. 

If he wants to fuck her like this, she’s not going to object. Mike’s more than strong enough to keep her in the air long enough to get them both off. Especially if the shudder that courses through her at the mere thought of Mike’s arms banded around her as his cock slides into her from below is any indicator. It won’t take her long at all. 

Just. They probably should’ve gotten naked first. 

“And what would make up for it?” he grins up at her, palms flat against her ass. 

“This is good,” she murmurs, leaning back down to lick into his mouth. 

Mike kisses her back, humming as one arm braces against her spine, hand tangling in her hair. He eases the elastic out of her ponytail and grins into Ginny when her curls bounce free. There’s a slight tug and Ginny whines into his mouth, legs tightening around his hips. 

“Could be better, though.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means before the world is tipping to the side and Mike’s face is hovering above hers.

He’s so fucking strong, not even wavering as he braces them both over the couch. Ginny can see the cords of his bicep straining next to her ear. The cushions just barely brush against her back, but Ginny doesn’t want to give up the grip she’s got on Mike. He tries to lower her down, but she clings determinedly to his broad shoulders and hips. 

Mike laughs. “C’mon, Gin. I can’t go down on you if you don’t let go.”

He only laughs harder when she drops immediately to the cushions with a soft thump. 

“Oh, now you cooperate.”

“I’ll always cooperate if you’re going down on me.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he promises, pressing one more kiss against her lips before scooting down the couch, his hands and mouth tracing his way. 

Ginny shifts beneath him, arching into his touch. She whines when he doesn’t pull her leggings off, instead skipping down to unlace her shoes and rid her of her socks. When Mike mouths against the delicate bones of her ankle, though, she sighs and melts into the cushions, willing to leave him to his business. Especially when that business involves his curious, searching fingers walking back up the long line of her legs. 

Somehow, he avoids the bruise on her right shin and the one above her left knee, though there’s no way he can see them. He just knows her body that well. Mike proves it again when he wedges his knuckles right against her hot, needy core, giving her the friction she’s wanted so desperately. Ginny groans, her approval grinding against him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, even as he draws his hand away. Since it lands right on her waistband, Ginny can’t mind too much. She lifts her hips and he tugs and her leggings are tossed on the floor where they belong.

It’s strange to realize that this is the most naked she’s been in front of Mike since that first night. Sure, he’d had his face right against her bare cunt in the library, but she’d been wearing her shoes then. 

It feels like an important distinction in the haze of indulgence fogging her brain.

Almost automatically, Ginny’s knees close. 

Mike’s not having any of that. His broad, callused hand slides up her calf as he murmurs, “Hey, now. Don’t be shy.” 

It’s the soft kiss he presses against her bruised shin, though, that gets Ginny to relax. Slowly, her eyes on Mike the entire time and her face flooding with heat, her thighs spread. He keeps his eyes on hers, even as his hand continues it’s path upwards. 

Rather than dip his fingers into the eager well of arousal between her legs, he stops with his palm flat against her thigh. With his fingers spread against the warm brown skin there, he covers so much of her. Ginny can’t help but stare. It wouldn’t take much for him to dig his fingers in and pull her into his lap. 

Mike’s got other plans, though, given the way he uses his grip to push her leg open further, making more room for his wide shoulders between them. 

Even as his mouth finally connects with her soaked pussy, his eyes are on hers, twinkling and promising so much.

If anyone can deliver, it’s Mike Lawson.

Ginny moans as soon as his tongue curls eagerly between her folds, warm and wet and so goddamn much better than her vibrator. The slight rasp of his beard against her inner thighs is a delicious contrast to his lips as they wrap around her clit. 

The only sounds in the apartment are Ginny’s panting praise and the filthy slurps Mike makes between her legs. 

“You’re so fucking wet, Gin,” he growls, rubbing his chin against her and making her hips jump. Fuck, that’s good. “So wet for me, aren’t you?”

She can’t even argue, not with the way she keens and wraps her fingers into his hair when his tongue dips inside her. If she tugs again when his mouth splits into a wide grin against her, she just wants to keep him focused.

There’ll be time for gloating later.

“Why don’t you prove you deserve it, Lawson?” Ginny rasps, not even a little surprised by how hoarse her voice is. Mike’s never had trouble getting her to make some noise, even when she should know better. 

But here, in the quiet of his apartment, with no one Ginny knows even in the same building, there’s no reason to keep quiet. 

He chuckles, nuzzling against her thigh. Some of her wetness rubs off on her skin from his beard, and she shivers. 

“I think we both know I will.”

Any retort Ginny might’ve made gets thrown to the void when Mike seals his lips around her clit and sucks hard. Her hips cant up into his mouth and he groans against her, the sound vibrating through that small bundle of nerves. 

Just like that, Ginny comes, falling hard and fast through the waves of pleasure and wishing it’ll never stop. Her eyes squeeze shut, but the image of Mike’s smug fucking face buried so worshipfully between her taut thighs is painted in exquisite detail behind her eyelids. She can hear him, his tongue obscenely lapping against her flooded pussy, the slight rasp of his callused palm skating under her thighs to her ass. She can smell him, his cologne scrubbed familiarly into the cushions of the couch, mingling with the sharp scent of her arousal and it’s better than that first hit of coffee in the morning.

And God, she can  _feel_  him.

He’s got one hand up her shirt, palming the heavy globe of a breast and his forearm pinning her down as she threatens to bow off the couch. His tongue hasn’t stopped lashing against her clit once, coaxing aftershocks into mini climaxes of their own. He’s all over the surface of her, covering her, overwhelming her in the best fucking way possible.

And it  _is_  just the surface (for all it feels like he’s wiggled his way deep into the heart of her and might never come out).

He’s gotten her off so spectacularly without getting much more than the tip of his tongue inside her. Not that Ginny minds.

She doesn’t even miss the absence until his blunt fingertips are sliding between her folds, the walls of her cunt still spasming and shuddering. Ginny sucks in a sharp breath just before those talented fingers curl exactly right and cajole a second climax out of her straight on the heels of the first. 

The stretch, the angle, the knowledge that it’s  _Mike_  doing this to her, it all drags the sensation out, time bending and slowing to a molasses drip as Ginny spins along each cresting wave of pleasure, all conscious thought banished in favor of the overwhelming greed for moremoremore.

“Ah, fuck!” she curses when she gets control of her tongue again. Her thighs have already tightened around Mike’s face without her permission. She can’t quite get them to loosen, not when he continues the onslaught of sensation. Everything feels electric, shivers and shocks racing out from her oversensitive pussy and coming back again, pooling right where he’s fastened his perfect goddamn mouth. “Mike—”

He doesn’t let up. In fact, he bears down, burying his face deeper in Ginny’s cunt, lapping up every trace of her arousal, his fingers curling hard against her g-spot, making her see stars. He lets her legs drape over his back, not even bothering to wiggle out of the near vice grip she must have on him.

Mike’s going down on her like this is all he wants, like he doesn’t expect anything else from her, like he has no clue that Ginny’s been fantasizing about riding him hard and fast and fucking relentless for weeks now, and good—amazing,  _out of this fucking world_ —as his mouth is, she wants  _more_. 

She convinces her thighs to open and tugs on his hair, whining out his name. His eyes flash up to her, but his tongue continues to lash at her cunt, licking up every dripping drop of her. Ginny almost can’t stand to look at him, but she pulls again, and his mouth finally comes off her with a wet  _pop_. He smacks his red lips, tongue swiping up what hadn’t made it to his mouth.

“C’mon, Gin,” he pants, eyes a little wild and mouth glistening. It’s nearly enough to make her explode again then and there. “Let me make it good for you.”

“You did, you did,” she manages, nearly babbling. Ginny tugs and this time he comes, prowling up her body in a way that makes her whine, already desperate for more. Her fingers gentle in his hair, soothing the sting even as she encourages him to hover over her. Just before his mouth descends to hers again, she gasps out once more, “You already did.”

“I did, huh?” he asks when he finally pulls away. Ginny can feel his cheeks apple with smug pride, his beard rasping against her skin. Mike’s hips roll pointedly and his cock slides between them, though it’s frustratingly still contained in his pants. Ginny’s thighs tighten around his waist anyway, locking him in place.

God, he’s a cocky asshole, but it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I’m not saying it again,” she warns. 

“Nah, three times is enough.”

Ginny laughs in spite of herself, and Mike lights up in response. She’s still laughing when he heaves himself upright, bringing her with him. In a moment, she’s back in the air, wrapped around Mike like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree. Easily, like her weight means nothing, he walks them back to his bedroom. The only indication he gives that he even notices her wrapped around him is the swat he gives her ass, and, when Ginny nips his ear in protest, the soothing palm he places there, fingers dangerously close to her wet center.

In no time at all, they make it to his room. Mike deftly untangles Ginny’s limbs from him and tosses her to the bed. She bounces on the mattress, laughing bright and eager and more than willing to let him toss her around some more. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how  _big_  Mike is. On the mound, he always stops far enough away that he’s nearly eye to eye with her. Slouching at the dugout fence beside her, it’s the same thing. But now, when he’s just shown off just what his hard earned muscle can do, Ginny never wants to forget.

And when he continues to stand above her, fond smile hidden away in the mess she’s made of his beard, that’s a pretty good reminder. 

“You just gonna stand around staring all day?” she drawls, propping herself up on her elbows as she trails a toe along Mike’s inseam.

He rolls his eyes, but still pulls off his t-shirt, doing that one-handed grab behind his neck that all boys seem to learn sometime between junior high and high school. Except Ginny’s never actually been turned on just from seeing it happen. With Mike, though, it’s a fucking show, his biceps bulging and abs clenching as the shirt whisks up and over his head. When he emerges from the fabric, his hair is a mess, though that could be from all the pulling Ginny’s done so far.

Almost without input from her brain, her hand reaches out and splays low against his stomach. The muscles there shiver, kicking off an obscene amount of heat. Groaning in appreciation, she pushes herself upright, knees bracketing Mike’s hips and hands curled against his sides to hold him in place.

“God, you’re so hot,” she murmurs, lips trailing over the contours of his stomach. He shudders against her and moans when her tongue dips into his belly button and swirls away.

“You’re one to talk,” Mike throws back, his fingers carding through her hair, pushing just enough to get Ginny to tilt her head back to look up at him. He stares back with dark, hooded eyes. “You are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

"Is that so?” she purrs, grinning smugly.

His hand cups her face, thumb tracing over her full lips. “Definitely. It’s honestly a miracle you want to sleep with me.”

“Mike, I want to do way more than just sleep with you,” she says, fondly exasperated. Before he can reply, she whips his belt out from its loops, fly already undone. He stares down at her, gobsmacked, as she raises one mischievous brow. God, boys are easy to distract. “But let’s start there.”

Mike doesn’t need to be told twice. In a blink, he’s shucked his jeans and shoes and left them on the floor, already prowling up Ginny’s body. He leaves her just enough room to wiggle out of her shirt, putting her pretty, almost entirely see-through lace bra on display. 

“Does that match your underwear?” he groans, his forehead thudding against her shoulder. It stays there until he realizes that there’re miles of smooth skin on display. Skin that he could be better appreciating. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums, already distracted by the way he’s sucking a twin mark to the other side of her collarbone. 

“You’re gonna have to show me.”

“Later,” she promises, twisting an arm beneath her back to release the catch and get rid of the thing if it’s going to distract him from what she wants. 

And the heated look he gives her, once she’s naked and sprawled, ever so willing, on his sheets, that is exactly what she wants. 

Well, once he gets rid of his boxers, it’ll be exactly what she wants. 

To give him a hint, Ginny inches her fingers under the elastic waistband, palms sliding over the firm curve of his ass. Mike grunts and his hips jolt forward, grinding into the cradle of her hips. She whines at the contact, her pussy already tightening in anticipation. 

“Fuck me,” she says/orders/begs. Whatever gets him inside of her quickest, that’s what Ginny does. “Mike, fuck me. I’ve waited so long.”

He rolls off of her immediately. Ginny’d complain about it if he weren’t so quick about ditching his dark boxers—though not quite dark enough to hide the wet stain his precome’s made. 

All thoughts of laundry disappear as Mike stretches out to his bedside table to rummage around in the drawer for a condom. The reach does amazing things for his body, pulling his abs tight and making his dick bob thickly against his stomach. He’s too heavy to stand up straight, and Ginny practically licks her lips at the thought of him filling her up.

She rolls to her knees and crawls towards him. Mike watches her in favor of paying attention to his search, his hand blindly scrabbling for a foil packet. Ginny doesn’t stop advancing until she can stretch out over him, breasts dragging against his chest, and pluck out a condom herself. 

Prize in hand, she settles back against his thighs to roll it on. He doesn’t take his eyes off her for a minute, even though his eyelashes flutter the first time she wraps her hand around him, stroking up the thick shaft to his swollen head. Fuck, it’s almost like last night, Mike sprawled out at her mercy. Ginny could easily lean down and lick the bead of precome that’s only just beginning to roll down the head. If she put her mind to it, she thinks she could even get herself off too, just from riding the thick span of Mike’s thigh. 

It’s an interesting prospect. 

But not the one that she really wants.

Just a few seconds are all it takes to get the rubber smoothed over him, and she drags her fingers up over the soft silicone ridges built into the design. 

It’s a nice touch, but Ginny can confidently say that Mike doesn’t need help from ribbed condoms when it comes to her pleasure. 

His hands settle on her hips and urge her forward. When she takes a moment to admire her view, Mike panting and flushed and disheveled, he rallies the spark to smirk up at her.

“What happened to waiting so long, Gin?”

All that attitude disappears when Ginny sinks down on him, taking him up to the hilt in one smooth motion. Mike’s fingers tighten and she’s sure he’s going to leave marks. But that doesn’t matter because he’s finally back inside her, and he’s going to be there pretty often in the future, too. 

His breath stutters out when she lifts and falls, sheathing his cock back inside her warm pussy. 

“Shit! How do you feel so fucking good?” he groans, pushing himself up so he can work on darkening the twin bruises on her clavicle. On the way, though, he gets distracted by her bouncing breasts. His tongue slips around one nipple, then the other, a mirror of what he’d just done between her legs. Ginny begins rocking in his lap, eager to keep his mouth on her. 

“So tight, baby,” he murmurs into her chest, lapping long stripes between her breasts. “So tight. So fucking good.”

That’s when he wedges a hand between them, his thumb stroking against her clit in time to the circling of her hips. 

“You’re— Fuck!” she gasps as the head of his cock drags against her g-spot. “So much better than I remembered.”

“Were you remembering, Gin?” he goads, more than a little breathless himself. “You think about fucking me while you got yourself off? While you took that picture for me?”

“Uh huh!” she agrees, feeling herself careen towards an inevitable conclusion but wanting to savor the feel of Mike, sweaty and hot and so fucking into her, for a little longer. “Just you. Just wanted you.”

“You’ve got me,” he promises and cuts off anything more by sealing his lips against hers. 

Ginny’s so lost in the give and take of it all, that she doesn’t quite notice when Mike rolls her onto her back. It takes him pulling out to jolt her to awareness, a protesting whine already on her lips. Thankfully, he slides back inside her, peppering her face with kisses, his beard soft and a little sticky against her face. 

That’s all her, she realizes as Mike coaxes her knees up to her chest, opening her up wide enough that his dick can slide another perfect inch inside her. The new angle means his every thrust runs up against her g-spot and that inevitable conclusion she’d foreseen is suddenly so much closer. 

It’s right on top of her, actually.

Ginny can’t do anything to stop this one, so she doesn’t, bearing down on Mike’s hard cock still pumping in and out of her grasping pussy. She’s not sure what sounds come out of her mouth, though judging by the way his rhythm begins to speed up, Mike must like them. Her heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of her chest, and she won’t even be upset to see it go because maybe then she’ll have some sort of relief from this relentless onslaught of pleasure.

She gasps out his name and pulls him back down to her. Ginny needs to feel him against her this time. She needs to feel every stutter in his thrusts, every hitch in his breath and know that just as he’s made her feel so beyond-words-incredible, she’s done the same to him. 

His whole body goes taut, hips jerking out of rhythm, as his orgasm catches up with him. With a grunt, he’s spilling into the condom, buried deep inside Ginny. His pelvis hits against her clit and she shudders through one last climax of her own, drowning out the aftershocks of the one that came before.

Together, they lay panting and intertwined for a long moment, struggling towards equilibrium.

Mike somehow has the presence of mind to roll so he’s not crushing Ginny, though she doesn’t mind the bulky weight of him pinning her to the bed. Languidly, every movement lazy and sated, he gets rid of the used condom and pulls her into his side. 

Well, that’s pretty good, too.

The sweat is going to cool, but for now, neither makes any move to get under the covers. Their shared body heat is more than enough warmth. They might doze, or they might just cuddle in the afterglow, too content to do something so drastic as moving.

It’s not until a rogue thought, spurred by the memory of Mike hoisting her into the air so easily, pops into existence that Ginny even considers bursting their easy, post-coital bubble. 

But it’s a  _really_  intriguing thought.

“Hey,” Ginny murmurs, her cunt already clenching eagerly in anticipation. “You think you can get me off—”

“Yes,” he cuts her off, dry and amused. He peeks down at her with one eye still shut. “I think I’ve proved I can get you off. But I’m gonna need a little time before we get back to it.”

“You might need time, but I don’t,” she points out, letting her initial point drop. She doesn’t bother to press this point either, though. Her position draped against Mike is too comfortable to give up. The beat of his heart strong and steady under hand, his arm is reassuring at her back, and his breath stirs the wispy hairs around her face.

He hums his agreement, yet still counters, “But who gets you off better than I do?”

It’s a silly question, one that he doesn’t expect an answer to. 

Which is exactly why Ginny replies, snuggling more firmly into his side, “No one, Mike. There’s no one quite like you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That, as they say, is all folks! Thanks to everyone who was so patient as I finished this up and left a comment/kudos/anonymous messages in my inbox reminding me that there were WIPs I needed to finish. Sorry for lying to you all about getting this up in a more timely manner.
> 
> This, initially, was going to have a much bigger fight, but since this version clocked in at 9k words, I don't want to imagine what that one would've been. Hope I didn't hand wave the conflict away too much, but we all know why we're here, right? Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
